


Unfixable

by PeregrineBones



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Romance, SnowBaz, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 53,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeregrineBones/pseuds/PeregrineBones
Summary: Four years after the end of Carry On Simon and Baz are living together in London. They go to Penny's wedding then on a holiday in the Southwest, where they meet a mysterious man who claims to be able to help Simon. And that is where their troubles begin.





	1. Anxiety and Depression

**Baz**

It’s not that I don’t love him.

I do. I love him with all my heart and soul. And it goes beyond that. I need him. I need him like I need blood. That is the simple truth of it. He keeps me connected to the living breathing world; the world of hearts that beat and veins that bleed. He keeps me human. It's been that way ever since we were eleven, and the crucible cast us together. I’m no good without him.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. It’s hard being with someone who is chronically depressed. The moodiness, the anger, the quiet hopeless nights. Not that I blame him. If things were the other way round, if I were the one who had lost their magic, I’d be worse, ten times worse. I’d trade with him if I could, just to see him happy.

Sometimes he forgets. Simon is so full of life, it’s not really in his nature to be morose (unlike me). He’ll laugh, he’ll smile, he’ll get enthusiastic about some stupid project, or some show he’s watched on TV. He coaches football at the local Boy’s League, and he likes that. It’s for kids like him, who don’t have much. He has friends at Uni, Normal friends, and sometimes he goes out with them. I used to be jealous. Now I encourage it. I know it’s good for him.

I know I get possessive, and I try to rein it in, but sometimes, I can’t help it. There’s this one girl, Nadine, one of his Uni friends, and I know she likes him. You can tell - it’s completely obvious. And the thing is, Simon never really has committed to being gay. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say the word queer - he’s just not comfortable with the whole thing. I know he’s working on it in therapy, and he never really gives me any reason to doubt him. He fucks me like a stallion, he clings to me like a child. I know he loves me, and most of the time, that’s enough.

Sometimes when we’re cooking dinner together, or making love, I sense a lightness to him, and I think he’s moving through it. Merlin knows, I’ve tried to shag him out of it. But then he remembers, remembers that his magic is gone. We keep telling him, me and Penny, that it will get easier with time, but there’s really no reason why it should.

He tried to kill himself two years ago. That was bad. Blood everywhere. I was so frantic to save him I hardly noticed. Just goes to show what he does to me. Riding in the ambulance, with Simon lying there pale and unconscious, his wrists bandaged, the air thick with the smell of his blood, I knew I wouldn’t be able to live if he died. The psychiatrists all said it was a cry for help, but I saw the look in his eyes when he came to. He was ready to go.

Since then he’s more subdued, more wary, careful not to let himself sink that low. Sometimes I think he’s hanging around just for me. I think he knows what it would do to me to lose him.

I know he loves me, but sometimes I think he’ll leave me just because I’m a reminder of everything he’s lost.

We’re quite a pair, the two of us.

*******

This spring things have been different. It’s Penny’s wedding coming up - and all the change in the air. Penny and I are due to graduate. Simon’s still got a year to go at Uni. He lost a semester when he had his surgery - to get his wings removed - that was a rough recovery, and then another semester around the wrist slitting episode. He just couldn’t finish his courses after that.

He says it doesn’t bother him - that Penny and I are getting done with school, moving on to adult lives -but I know he’s lying. Of course it does. It would bother anyone and Simon - well Simon always feels left behind for so many reasons.

And the big thing of course - the biggest thing of all is that Penny’s moving away. His best mate, his rock since we were children. I know he’s happy for her - we both are, but those two have never been separated. Not since our first year at Watford. He’s naturally anxious about it - anyone would be.

I’ve been watching him closely - I admit it. He’s on edge and so am I. That’s how we are - what affects one of us affects the other.

It’s fun helping Penny get ready for her wedding - we’ve bonded over it. Color schemes and flower arrangements. I wouldn’t say I’m fascinated by that sort of thing, but I have good instincts. I enjoy thinking about it. We’ve had fun all winter, looking at bridal sites online, trying out different hairstyles. Penny is so beautiful, when she takes the time.

Simon likes it, even though he could care less what Penny wears to her wedding. He likes it that we're all together, getting along, laughing and joking, cozy in their big old fashioned flat, as the winter wears on toward spring.

I just hope I can get Simon through the wedding in one piece. Emotionally, I mean.

I’m kind of dreading it, to tell the truth.


	2. Even After Four Years It's Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance to anyone who has already read this chapter. I first posted it as a short story, but I always envisioned it as a prelude to more. Anyway, I will update soon! Cheers and thanks for reading, PB

**Simon**

Even after four years it’s hard.

Well you should try it. Being around magic after you’ve lost it. It’s supposed to get easier according to my therapist. And Penny. And Baz. My own personal cheerleading squad. And they’re right. It is easier in a way, but only in a way. In another way, it just gets harder.

There’s a book for people like me. Apparently I’m not the only one to lose my magic. But people in the Mage world don’t like to talk about it much, so the book is hard to find. Penny dug up a copy of it for me though. _Life Beyond Magic_ it says, in cheerful yellow print on a green background. I have refused to open it. My therapist says that’s OK. I’ll read it when I’m ready, she says.

My therapist’s name is Andrea by the way. She’s one of the few magical therapists in the world. She lives in America. We have our sessions over Skype.

Anyway, it’s Penny’s wedding, so I’m trying to keep it together for her sake. We’ve been best mates, after all, since we were eleven. Penny is radiant with happiness. I’ve never really seen her like this. Her graduation from Uni was a few weeks ago. I didn’t graduate, even though we’re in the same year. I lost a term when I had surgery. To get my wings removed. And the term after that my marks were so bad, I may as well not have gone. Anyway, I’ve got another year to go. I don’t mind, really. I like my Normal friends, at Uni. These days, I prefer them.

Baz graduated as well and has a job, a real adult job, in a London bank. He’s due to start as soon as we get back. He’s trying to act like he’s not nervous though I can tell he is. His graduation was a quiet affair. His stepmother has been sick and his parents left right after the ceremony. The two of us just went out with Fiona and got pissed, which was pretty fun, I have to admit.

Penny’s wedding is in a suburb of Chicago where Micah’s family lives and everything is very green. And hot. It’s incredibly hot here, which makes the smells worse. And that’s the problem really. Though my power is gone, I can still feel magic, that delicious tingle, and I can still smell it. I don’t know, maybe it’s spending so much time around a vampire. Or maybe it’s something to do with the fact that I’ve lost my magic, and smell is all I have left of it, but I’ve become very attuned to the smell of other people’s magic. More so than when I had magic myself. And Micah’s family, all of these American mages really, the smell of their magic is very strong. And different. Woodsier, earthier, more like something you’d like to eat. Micah’s whole house reeks of magic, and when we first got here two nights ago, it almost made me feel a little nauseous. I’m more used to it now, but still. And it makes me sad. It made me sad when Micah’s little sister greeted us at the front door with a bunch of roses she conjured from thin air, it made me sad when Micah’s mother waved her wand after dinner and the plates neatly stacked themselves and flew into the kitchen. Penny and Baz know things like that upset me, and they avoid doing them, but I can’t really expect that here.

It’s a beautiful day for a wedding. The sky is a clear blue and there’s a little breeze, making the heat less intense. There’s a huge white tent in the back garden and about twenty waiters in black and white uniforms setting things up. Micah’s family has money, you really can’t see where the back garden ends and the house is huge, large enough to accommodate all of Penny’s family as well as Agatha and her parents and me and Baz. Agatha is the maid of honor. Micah’s best (and apparently, only friend) Rodolpho is the best man. Baz and I are ushers, paired with Micah’s two oldest sisters as bridesmaids.

Penny and her bridesmaids are sequestered in Micah’s parents’ room getting ready. She won’t trust her hair to anyone but Baz - they’ve been experimenting on it together for months in preparation, so he’s up there as well. I’m down in Micah’s room with him and Rodolpho, trying to get him ready. Playing the straight man, which I’m good at. Baz teases me about it but I know that secretly he likes it. It’s easy, anyway, with Micah and Rodolpho. They’re such geeks, they’re easily impressed with the smallest demonstration of masculinity. We’re all in our grey tuxedos with blue cummerbunds. Baz and Penny spent months picking out the colors and choosing clothes and flower arrangements. Our flat in London has been awash in bridal magazines and fabric swaths all year. Unfortunately, I’m not sure blue is Micah’s color. He is very pale, like skim milk, and there are shadows under his eyes. He’s gotten tall, but in a way that makes him look young, kind of like he’s had a growth spurt and hasn’t had time to fill in. He’s sweated through his dress shirt, and Rodolpho is trying to dry him with his wand.

It suddenly hits me that Penny is actually marrying this fellow, and like it or not, things are never going to be the same. After the wedding she’s starting graduate school in Chicago, supplemented by courses at the Chicago Institute of Magic. She and Micah already have an apartment picked out downtown. They’re going furniture shopping next week. The flat that Penny and I shared for four years is empty. My few possessions are in boxes at Baz’s.

I think it’s going to be good for me and Baz to move in together. It’s been fine, each having our own place, but sometimes it’s awkward. It should be better when we get back. No more your place or mine conversations, or the nights when you just want to sit around and watch football or something and you have to make some kind of excuse. We’ll be home together, and his bed will be my bed and we’ll do normal types of things like go grocery shopping with each other and cook. I’ve been thinking we might get a cat. It’s an idea that my therapist has been encouraging.

Micah is looking sweatier despite Rodolpho’s ministrations. A shiny layer of moisture is now beading on his face. Without a wand, I’m not much good to him, and I decide I want to see Penny before the ceremony, so I step out for a few minutes and head upstairs.

I don’t think blokes are usually allowed in with the bride before the ceremony, but Baz and I, being poofters, get special privileges. Baz prefers to say queers or gay men, but I haven’t found a word for what we are that feels comfortable. It’s something I’m working on in therapy.

When I enter Baz is putting the final touches on Penny’s hair. She really looks beautiful. Penny doesn’t usually fuss much or wear makeup, but Baz and Agatha have done a great job with her. Her dark skin is smooth and flawless, glowing against her white gown. She must be wearing contact lenses because her glasses are gone and her eyes look big and shiny. Her hair is gorgeous, falling in dark tresses down her back and scattered with tiny white flowers. She smiles up at me when I come in, but I can tell she’s nervous because her left eyebrow is twitching, always a sure sign. I’m not much of a hugger but I feel compelled to cross the room, put my arms around her and plant a kiss right on that twitching eyebrow.

“Hey, don’t bollox up my masterpiece,” says Baz, batting me away, laughing. He’s having fun. “I’ve been working for over an hour here.”

Penny gives me a grateful look. I know she’s glad to have me here. I’m happy for her, I really am, but I also can’t shake the feeling that although this is a new beginning for her, it’s also a kind of an ending for her and me. “You look great,” I tell her, honestly. “You should let Baz have his way with you more often.”

Baz smirks at that, and Penny tries to hit me, and then there’s a lot of fussing over getting the veil right, and then it’s time for Baz and I to go join the men.

****

The ceremony is beautiful. Micah’s face lights up when he sees Penny and he looks tall and handsome as opposed to nervous and sweaty. Penny looks at him with love blazing from her eyes. When they kiss, Baz wraps his pinky around mine and gives it a squeeze. I squeeze back as one hundred magical doves are released and fly up into the azure sky.

The reception isn’t too bad at first. There’s a lot of magic around, trays of h’orderves sailing through the air, magical fireworks rolling lazily around the top of the tent, sending down occasional showers of sparks, blokes standing there chatting with their drinks levitated beside them, but I try not to mind. The food is delicious and there’s dancing. I never thought I’d say this, but I like to dance. Baz has been teaching me and we’ve been practicing, sometimes with Penny, sometimes just the two of us. Agatha is amazed when I ask her to waltz with me and I don’t trip all over my feet. She’s here with her new boyfriend, a tall American. He’s nice enough, but we’re a bit awkward with each other. Baz, of course is amazing on the dancefloor, graceful and elegant. He looks like something out of a 1940s film. He’s in his element here, circulating among these magical Americans with a confidence I could never have. I grab a glass of champagne from one of the trays that floats by. Micah and Penny’s little siblings are all going crazy on the dance floor.

Agatha’s dad, Dr. Wellbelove, corners me. He wants to talk about my future, something I try not to think about. I’m good at not thinking about things that upset me. He is very kind. He’s always liked me, taken an interest, but I know he pities me now and it bothers me. He thinks I should become a doctor, like him, but I don’t think my marks are good enough.

I end up standing around the bar with Rodolpho and Agatha’s boyfriend, Kevin, who it turns out, is a pretty nice guy. He’s obviously besotted with Agatha and who can blame him? I don’t know if he realizes she and I have a history. Agatha seems happy with him. He’s very handsome, and friendly enough. We’re all getting a bit too drunk, and we’re having a pretty good time, talking football and TV shows that we like, and I’m actually starting to relax a little bit.

Baz comes over and hands me a seltzer. His hand is cold and I look up at him. There’s that little line between his eyebrows and his face is pale. He’ll need to hunt soon, but there’s a woods behind the house, so he should be all right.

“Don’t get too drunk,” he whispers in my ear. “You won’t be any good to me later.”

The rest of the wedding passes in a blur. Micah’s Dad and his uncles put on an amazing show of magickal dancing. The cake is cut and a flock of blue butterflies rises from it. I’ve had enough. I can hardly wait to climb the stairs to the tiny attic bedroom Micah’s mom has fixed up for me and Baz.

I take off my tuxedo and head straight for the shower. When I get back to the room, Baz is sprawled on one of the twin beds, scrolling through his phone. His cheeks are pink. I can tell he’s been hunting. He’s shed his tuxedo jacket and cummerbund, and his dress shirt is half undone. He looks dead sexy, lying there. He reaches his hand up to me and pulls me down beside him and suddenly, I want him badly, in spite of the small bed and the thin walls and the house full of people we don’t really know.

I feel we are at our best with each other in bed. It's different than it used to be. We were both so nervous in the beginning. Now we know what we’re doing, what the other one needs. There’s not a lot of talking. And when we’re in the middle of it, or afterwards, lying together bathed in each others’ sweat, I feel like just being alive is enough, even though I don’t have magic anymore.


	3. The Reply

**Baz**

Sometimes, when I’m lying next to Simon, I just listen to the blood coursing through his veins.

It used to worry me, how aware I was of his circulation, how much I thought about his blood, but it’s been years now and I’ve kept myself under control, so I reckon we’ll probably be all right. It soothes me, the constant rush and pulse, the sound of his heartbeat, his human warmth. For so long I believed I was untouchable. Even now, after all this time I sometimes feel I can never get enough. Of him. Of that closeness.

“Baz,” he reaches out to pull me toward him.

“Here.”

I nuzzle in. His carotid is beating against my cheek. We lay like that for a long time, incredibly relaxed, our breathing slow and even. Micah’s house is quiet. After the excitement of the wedding, we’re not the only ones having a sleep.

We doze together as darkness falls. At last we rouse ourselves. We gather in the living room with Micah and Penny and their families. The Wellbeloves have already left. Everyone eats leftover wedding food while Penny and Micah open presents. The mood is happy and relaxed - even Simon seems at ease. I can tell he’s relieved that the wedding is done with. Penny and Micah are leaving for their honeymoon tomorrow (Hawaii). Simon and I are leaving for a holiday in the southwest.

At last we head upstairs and snuggle together in one of the uncomfortable twin beds. It’s nice. I love these moments with Simon, relaxed and close, nothing to do but just be. I put my arms around him and lay my head on his chest and sigh. He’s scrolling through his phone, and I’m starting to drift off, comforted by his nearness to me, his warmth.

“Baz,” he says. “Look at this.” And there’s something in the tone of his voice that startles me awake.

“There’s a reply to our advert,” he says, showing me his phone.

It was Penny’s idea, at first, to try to get more information about Simon’s parents, but it caught on with all three of us and we’ve been fishing around on the magickal notice boards for a little over a year. Simon is famous enough. Just posting something with his name on it attracts attention. We’ve actually had some replies, but they’ve all been bogus. Simon wanted to try some of the American sites since we were going to be here anyway. We’ve kept the wording simple. This latest ad says _“Simon Snow’s parents. Looking for any information.”_

I read the words scrolling across his phone. _“Dear Mr. Snow, (I assume it is you I am writing to. If you are a third interested party, please forgive me.) I did know your parents at school. They were my good friends. I understand that they wanted to keep your origins a secret from you, but now that you are of age and are obviously seeking information I feel you have the right to know. I am currently living in America but if you are ever in the Las Vegas, Nevada area I would be happy to meet with you. I would however, require some proof that you are who you claim to be before we could proceed further. Sincerely, Capheus Grimmwood.”_

Simon starts punching letters into his phone, eager to reply, his face lit eerily by the screen. I put a hand over his. “Wait a minute,” I warn. “We don’t know anything about this man.”

He looks up at me, annoyed. “I know that,” he says. “I’m not giving anything away. I’m just saying that we _might_ be interested in meeting with him.”

I scoff. He can be such a dolt sometimes.

“I don’t see the issue,” he says, impatiently. “Here we are, in America. It couldn’t be easier!”

_And it couldn’t._

“A bit too easy, if you ask me!” I say

“You’re alway so suspicious!” he shoots back.

“With good reason, Simon! You don’t just go trusting some bloke who replies to your message on the internet! He could be anybody.”

“Yeah,” says Simon sarcastically. “He’s probably the Insidious Humdrum! Or the Mage! Do you think it’s the Mage, Baz? Do you think he resurrected himself somehow, and is coming to get me?”

“No,” I say. “Of course not. But that doesn’t mean…… Simon, not everyone’s a good person. There could be someone else, someone who means you harm…..”

“All that’s over,” he says bitterly. “I lost my power, remember Baz? Nobody like that is interested in me anymore! I have nothing to offer them!”

He runs his hand through his curls so they’re standing straight up. I always want to lick them down when they get like that. He gives me this look, a familiar one that goes back to our childhood, to our years of being mortal enemies. Like he just wants to punch me in the nose and settle it, once and for all. (He did once, when we were fourteen. I’ve got the bump halfway down my nose to prove it.)

I meet his gaze, and watch him fume. I’ve kind of forgotten how entertaining that can be.

“If that’s his real name I’m probably related to him,” I say quietly. “Grimm and Wood are both old magical names. He probably just dropped the hyphen at some point.”

“Your Dad is a Grimm.”

“Precisely.”

“Do you think he would know anything?”

“Possibly.” I hate to bother Father with something like this right now. He’s really been distracted by Daphne’s illness. “Fiona might know something.”

“She’s in Prague, hunting vampires.”

“True.”

“And we’re here, right now.”

“Also true.”

“And this bloke, who may be able to tell me more about my parents, is exactly where we’re going to be! Tomorrow!” Simon is definitely get riled up. In the old days, when he got like this, he’d start to smell of smoke. Now nothing. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you.”

“It matters to me, Simon,” I say. “I’m not sure I trust it. I want to find out more before we reply.”

“It’s not about you!” Simon says angrily. “You know who your parents are! Who you are! I’m just trying to find out!”

I don’t know what to say. I thought we were going to have a good night. Now the hurt and anger, always so close to the surface, are back in his eyes. All the things I have, that he never had. All the things I am, that he no longer is. I meet his gaze, and then I have to look away.

I try so hard to fix this, and I never can.

“I’m texting him” he says, defiantly. And I watch as his finger pushes send.


	4. Holiday

**Simon**

I fucking love Utah.

There’s something about it here. It’s free and open and big in a way that no place in Britain could ever be. I love the dry open scrublands that go on forever and ever, the smoky mesas, off in the distance, the canyons with their amazing rock formations and swirls of color. I love the earthy reds and dusty oranges and the turquoise blue of the sky. Baz and I fantasize about doing over our flat in southwest colors. We put our row over Capheus behind us and we really have fun. We hardly ever go on holiday. Our rental car is this cute, bright red pick up and I let Baz drive. He’s the one who’s really comfortable behind the wheel. I just got my license, finally, last spring, at his insistence. I never had anyone to teach me how to drive, when I was young. And driving on the right side - well - it's better if Baz drives.

We decide to leave the Grand Canyon for last and we head to Zion National Park. We spend three nights at the hotel right in the park. We hike during the day, and drink in our room at night. We watch old movies, and - well, we have a lot of sex. It’s nice. I can’t really remember a time when we just got to focus on each other. You might think it would get claustrophobic but it doesn’t. We’re good together, me and Baz, we really are. There’s no magic around, we’re just living as Normals, and I have to say, that relaxes me.

It's on our last night at Zion that I see the text from Capheus. I haven’t really been paying a lot of attention to my phone, but Baz is out hunting and I have some time to kill, so I get it out.

 _“Simon_ ,” say the words on the screen. “ _It is so fortunate that you are in Utah. I am not that far from you. I live in Antelope, Arizona, just outside Wire Canyon. I would love to meet you face to face. I think I have some information that you would find very interesting. Sincerely, Capheus Grimmwood._ ”

I stare at the screen and my heart starts pounding. At last I text him back. _“Dear Mr. Grimmwood,_ ” I write. _“I would like to meet you too. But how do I know that you are who you say you are?”_ Before I have time to think too much about it, I press send.

I don’t know why I don’t tell Baz.

Nope, that’s not true. I know exactly why I don’t tell Baz.

I don’t want him to ruin this for me.

********

**Baz**

We spend three days at Zion then head north to Bryce canyon. Bryce is amazing. I’ve never been anywhere quite like it. The red earth, the weird rock formations, the sweeping scale of it all. And Simon - Simon seems happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. Lighter. He loves the landscape. He seems set free - away from London and the pressures of school. Away from a life where everything is a reminder of what he’s lost.

Here there’s no one but Normals. And everywhere we go, people get on with Simon. He has a natural charm. He’s got a quiet friendly way about him, and people can sense his inherent sweetness, I think. It’s funny because Simon can also be fierce, aggressive, when he’s cornered (I know. I used to corner him all the time just to watch the show.) He has a fighter’s instincts. But there’s no one to fight, here among these suntanned Americans with their slow drawling accents. Simon gets along with everyone we meet, and every day he seems more and more relaxed.

There’s game everywhere here. There’s an overpopulation of mule deer so I don’t feel bad taking them. I hunt down in the canyon, in the stark eerie landscape, with the moon shining bright on the exquisite columns and canyons of rock.

We even socialize a little. There’s a nice bar attached to the restaurant and one night we hit it off with another gay couple that’s staying here. They’re from New York, and doing a similar holiday to us, hiking, exploring the west. They’re interesting - one of the blokes is in finance like me, the other one does something in the film industry - set design or something - he’s a little vague. Simon likes them and it’s pleasant. It’s nice to feel like we’re not the only queers in this empty dramatic landscape.

We’re supposed to go on to the Grand Canyon and then back to Las Vegas to catch a plane to New York and then London, but the night before we leave Bryce, Simon has a new idea. He shows me this place he found on his phone - Wire Canyon it’s called. It’s a slot canyon. It’s just over the border, in Arizona, but it’s on the way back to Vegas. Kind of. A short detour, according to Simon. The photos on line look really amazing, all swirling ribbons of rock in pink, orange and purple. The Grand Canyon is going to be really touristy and crowded, Simon says, and so I agree to change our plans.

********

**Simon**

Capheus lives in this little town right near Wire Canyon. It’s called Antelope. Now if I can just get away from Baz for a few hours, I’ll be all set.


	5. Antelope

**Simon**

To get to Wire Canyon, you have to drive for about two hours down this rough rocky road that’s completely abandoned. No houses. No people. No cars. Just mile after slow mile of barbed wire fencing, dry scrubland, and these rocks that look like someone took molten lava and just dropped it on the landscape, making these crazy formations that look like all sorts of weird things - arches and columns, dragons and birds.

I wonder what it would be like, if the rocks could come alive.

About an hour in, as the road gets rougher, Baz asks me how much water I have. Turns out, we only have about 2 liters between us. Enough for a day hike, but not enough if we get stranded for any length of time.

“If we get stuck out here, we could be in trouble,” Baz mutters anxiously. The car shakes as we go over another huge bump.

“Don’t hit the rocks,” I say.

“I’m trying not to,” he grumbles.

“Good thing you’re a Mage,” I say grinning at him. I can’t help it, I’m in a good mood. I like this. Being out on a backroads adventure, just me and Baz.

“I can fix a flat tire,” he says. “But if we get really stuck, I can’t call water.”

I could have, once. Calling water is one of those skills that takes years of advanced study, or it takes power. Lots of power. The kind of power I used to have.

Not anymore though.

Baz’s eyes flicker over to me, full of concern, as he watches my good mood deflate. He can tell what I’m thinking.

“Eyes on the road,” I say, and we don’t talk for a long while after that.

 

********

**Baz**

The trailhead to Wire Canyon is marked with a roughly painted sign - black scraggly letters on an old decaying piece of board - _ **Wire Canyon, This Way,**_ with an arrow off to the left. We park in a dry scrubbly parking area. There’s a chemical toilet - no water, and a National Wilderness area sign admonishing us not to litter and providing a rough map.

We pack up our scanty water supply and some crackers and peanut butter and apples. I check for my wand, lock the car and zip the keys into a side pocket in my pack. We got an early start, but it took us such a long time to get here that the day is heating up. Simon, who started out this morning in a really good mood, has settled into a glower after being reminded of his lost magic.

We head down the trail.

It’s a two hour hike in.

It’s another gorgeous landscape, another azure blue day. There’s a light breeze blowing Simon’s curls and he looks hot as hell. He’s tan and lean from our week of hiking, and his hair is bleached all golden from the sun. The rocks are really amazing. We walk under stone archways, take pictures next to a rock that looks like a grinning gargoyle, another one that’s a smooth perfect egg as tall as our heads. There’s a mesa off in the distance that looks just like a giant sleeping lizard,with its tail wrapped around itself, dozing in the sun.

Simon starts to lighten up. By the time we get to the cool dark entrance to the canyon his good mood seems to have returned.

Wire Canyon is completely worthwhile. We hike down through narrower and narrow walls of rock, glowing almost as if lit from within with soft oranges, pinks and violets. The layers of rocks bend and swirl in flowing ribbons of color. There’s no water here now, but water clearly made this place long ago. Those brilliant layers of sandstone were obviously laid down in some prehistoric sea, before the movement of the earth’s plates caused them to buckle and roll. And an ancient, long dried up river must have cut this graceful curving ribbon through the earth’s crust. I put my hand to the ground, and feel the arid desert dust, bone dry beneath our feet.

It's dead quiet in here, and cool. Those walls radiate power. Simon can feel it too, I can tell. At last it gets so narrow we have to squeeze through a dry corridor of rock, single file. We emerge on a ledge with a twenty foot drop down, where the canyon continues to cut it’s gorgeous winding way deep into the earth. This must have once been a magnificent underground waterfall.

It’s a technical climb down, and we haven’t the equipment to go further. I guess I could magic us to the bottom, but I’m nervous about our dwindling water supply, and I’m ready to turn back. Simon agrees affably enough. On the hike back we sit beside the gargoyle rock to eat our lunch and drink from our half empty water bottles. Afterwards, Simon pushes me back into a shadowy crevice among the rocks and his mouth tastes like apples.

We make it back to the main road without breaking an axle and dying of dehydration. Our water bottles are empty but we stop at the first gas station we come to and buy two large, cold bottles of lemonade. We drink them at a decaying picnic table, in the dusty shade of an ancient looking cottonwood that’s the only tree for miles around. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

All in all, I’m pretty well pleased with our day at Wire Canyon.

 

********

**Simon**

We check into a funky roadside motel, eat burgers at the steakhouse next door, browse in the Western themed gift shop.

Capheus wants to meet me in a bar set outside the tiny town of Antelope. It’s not far from where we’re staying. In the end I just have to wait for Baz to fall asleep. He’s a light sleeper, but we’ve had a full day of hiking, and a couple of beers with dinner, and a shag. I’d be asleep myself, if I wasn’t so nervous and excited about this meeting. I sneak out of the room in my bare feet, put on my trainers in the parking lot.

There’s no cars on the road at this late hour so I’m okay driving on the right. Which is a good thing, because I’m pretty nervous. It’s a cool night but I feel sweaty. My palms are damp and I can smell the sweat smell coming from my pits.

The bar outside Antelope is the only thing lit up for miles around in the cool desert night. I stand outside, listening to country music and the murmur of voices. I swallow back my anxiety and push open the door.

The bar is decorated in a Western theme - like the gift shop and the steak house. There are photos of cactuses against the sunset, cowboy hats hanging from the ceiling, the skull of a cow or a sheep or something with huge curling horns hanging from the wall. There’s a poster of a guy dressed like a cowboy, pointing a gun. The speech bubble coming out of his mouth says, _“Can I help you?”_ There’s another poster with a rattlesnake ready to strike that says _“Don’t tread on me.”_ There’s people seated at the bar. Their backs are to me and they don’t turn around. They’re focused on drinking, as if nothing else matters. There’s a group of people with a pitcher of beer at a greasy table. They’re smoking, and the room is thick with it. I didn’t think you could smoke in restaurants any more, but this seems like the kind of place where they don’t really care about the rules.

A man with a grizzle of beard looks up at me from the table. He’s not wearing a cowboy hat, like everyone else in the room is, but he’s got a red kerchief tied around his neck. His scraggly salt and pepper hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. He looks at me and grins, flashing bad teeth. His eyes are pale blue, and they stand out against his darkly suntanned face. “Hello Simon,” he says, in a flat American accent. If he went to school with my parents at Watford, you’d never know it.

I’m pretty scared. What was I thinking, coming here without Baz? I can smell the magic on this bloke, a faint whiff coming off of him, and it's not a good smell. It’s rank.

What the fuck am I doing, alone, in the middle of the night, in the Antelope Bar in Antelope, Arizona?

The man rises and walks toward me. He takes my hand and shakes it. It’s cold. “Don’t be afraid, lad,” he says and now I hear the faint undertone of his British accent, like an echo. “I’m so glad you’ve come to see me.” He turns to the blokes seated at the table. They’re drinking their beer and staring at us with interest. “Later fellows,” he says to them. He takes a cowboy hat off a hook on the wall, rams it on his head, and leads me out of the Antelope Bar.

We walk out into the desert. It's a clear night, and the stars are shining, incredibly bright, ten times brighter that they shine in London, brighter than I’ve ever seen them. The moon is low in the west. It must be really late. We walk out to a small rise without talking. He sits down, looking out at the view. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, extracts one, and offers it to me.

“I don’t smoke,” I say.

He nods, pulls out a wand, and lights the end of his fag. It glows like a ruby in the clear night.

“Tell me about my parents,” I say.

“David and Lucy,” he responds, exhaling. Their names hang in the desert air, like smoke. Like ghosts.

“Yes,” I say softly.

“We were mates at school.”

“So you said, in your email. What else?”

“Your mother was a great beauty.”

“I’ve been told that.”

“And kind, very kind.”

I’ve been told this as well, but I keep my mouth shut. Ebb, in a certain mood, will go on and on about how sweet and kind my mother was.

“Your dad was my best mate,” he says. His English accent is stronger out here in the desert, away from the other Americans, as he starts to relax into his story.

“All right,” I say. That’s hardly a recommendation.

“He was a visionary,” he says. “He wanted the world of Mages to improve itself, you know. Be stronger, but also more inclusive. To move forward, into the modern world.”

This bloke isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know. I heard it all, directly from the Mage himself. He used to lecture me about it all the time. David Fucking Weir. My Dad.

I’m starting to get annoyed. The adrenaline, from sneaking out, the long dark drive, walking into the Antelope Bar, is starting to wear off. I yawn. It’s rude I guess, but I can’t help it. He looks at me sharply, as if he’s sizing me up, and I feel self conscious, suddenly. I pull a tuft of dry grass out of the sandy soil and start shredding it. It’s kind of an immature thing to do, but at least it’s something to do with my hands.

 “Why did he abandon me?” I ask at last. “Why did he leave me at a children’s home with my name written on my arm? Not even my full name. He left off my surname. Why would anyone do that to their kid?”

He sits there in silence.

“If you were such great mates with him, and all, why would he do that? My mother died, I know that, the centaurs told me that, I’ve been to her grave, but why would any father abandon their kid like that? I just don’t get it.”

He lights another fag with his wand. I can’t tell if he doesn’t want to say anything because it’s too painful or if he genuinely doesn’t know. He hasn’t really told me anything that proves he even knew my parents, or that he even went to Watford.

“Simon,” he says at last. “I don’t know why David did what he did after you were born. We had broken off our friendship by then. We argued about …….certain things, certain techniques. I couldn’t agree with his methods and we went our separate ways. But,” he pauses here, looks at me intently “I know that you lost your magic.”

“Yes,” I say, unhappily, staring off into the dark desert night. _That’s obvious,_ I think. _Anyone who knows anything about magic could tell that mine is gone._ It hurts me to think about it, like a sharp pang, right in the middle of my chest.

“I can help you get it back,” he says. His words hang in the still, quiet air. “If you are interested.”

I sit there and look up at the stars. The world is so big out here, the desert night goes on and on forever. And I can’t help it, my heart does a little flip flop at his words.

“Why would you do that?” I ask at last.

“I cared about your parents,” he says. “Your father and I had a falling out, but I still cared about them. When I saw your advert, well, I can imagine how hard it must be. That’s all.”

“It  _is_ hard,” I say, and there’s a catch in my throat. Could this bloke be for real? Could he actually be able to help me? I don’t want to start hoping, but before I realize that it’s happening, I am.

“When do you go back to London?” he asks me.

“Day after tomorrow,” I whisper.

“You’re flying out of Vegas?” he guesses.

I nod.

“Think about it,” he says, stubbing out his cigarette and rising. “Meet me in Vegas tomorrow night. The Lucky Lizard Casino. Bring your boyfriend.”

It’s only as I’m driving back, through the dark and lonely night, that I think to wonder how he knows about Baz.

 

*******

 

When I get back to the motel Baz is sitting up at the little table by the curtained window, fully dressed, his phone in his hand.

Of course he’s angry. Anybody would be. And he knows exactly where I’ve been.

“You went to see that Capheus bloke, didn’t you?” he says. His voice is icy.

I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve never gone off and done anything behind his back. “I’m sorry,” I say. I sit down on the bed and start pulling off my trainers. “I just had to see.”

“And?” he says, He raises one of those eyebrows at me. His mouth is a thin line.

“He says he was mates with my parents at school.”

“And how did he prove that, exactly?” asks Baz.

“He didn’t really,” I say. I sigh and lay back in the bed. I’m knackered, not really up for a row, but I can feel it heading my way. “He knew my parents’ names. A few details. Not anything you couldn’t figure out from reading _The Magickal Record._ ”

“So are we done now?” he asks. “We don’t need to have anything more to do with him, do we?”

“He says he can help me get my magic back.”

“And you believed him?”

I shrug. I can’t beat back that little flame of hope that’s glowing inside me.

“He wants to meet us again,” I say.

“Us?” he asks sharply.

“He knew I had a boyfriend.”

“And how, pray tell, did he know that?”

I shrug again.

“This whole thing stinks, Simon,” he says. You know that.”

He’s probably right.

“Simon,” he says. He’s trying to be patient with me, but I can hear the exasperation in his voice. “You’re famous. You’re….A target. Anyone could say anything. Anyone could find out a whole lot of details about your past and sound convincing.”

He’s talking to me like I’m ten years old and it’s pissing me right off. “I know all that!” I say.

“You’re not acting like you know it!”

“Don’t tell me how to act!”

“I’m just looking out for you!” he retorts.

“You’re speaking to me like I’m a child!”

“You’re kind of acting like a child right now!” he shouts. His face, always pale, is white with anger.

“Oh, sod off!” I say.

We sit there, staring at each other. I hate fighting with him.

“Magic….. Magic doesn’t come easily, Simon,” he says at last, softly. “There’s always a price.”

“Maybe,” I say, looking right into his grey eyes. “Maybe I’m willing to pay that price.”

I don’t want to fight. I head for the bathroom and get into the shower. I come out with a towel wrapped around me and get into bed. Baz is still sitting at the little table with his clothes on, lost in thought.

“Let’s just meet with him,” I say. “I’ll be careful. I won’t give anything away. But I have to see, Baz. Can’t you understand that? I have to try. This life I’m living, it’s bollocks. I fucking hate it. If I could get my magic back…….” I don’t finish my sentence. I don’t have words to explain what it would mean to me.

He looks at me hopelessly, but it must be a sign of how much he actually does get it, how much he understands how bad it really is for me, that he shrugs at last, and looks to the ground.

“I know,” he says quietly, to the floor. “I know how bad it is. I live with you, every fucking day.”

I hold out my arms to him. “Come to bed,” I say. “Let’s have a sleep. I’m all in. And I love you.”

He looks at me for a long time. I’m not sure if he’s going to join me or walk away. At last he gets up and starts undressing. He strips down and I watch him, and suddenly, it’s sexy. He’s so gorgeous, and I love him so much. I want the reassurance, the safety, that I’ve only ever known in his arms.

He gets in bed and pulls me close.

“All right,” he says, into my neck, his breath a delicious whisper on my skin. “We can meet with him.” He pulls my mouth toward his. It feels great to hold him, to kiss him, to fuck him, to lie with him afterwards, bathed in sweat. And at last, we fall blissfully into sleep, in that crappy motel bed, while the bright desert sun rises outside our window.


	6. The Lucky Lizard

**Simon**

We eat a huge, late breakfast in the hotel restaurant, eggs, grits sausages, coffee. It’s too heavy, and the food sits in my stomach like a lump. We tour the Valley of Fire on our way back to Vegas. It’s gorgeous. Amazing rock formations. Ancient petroglyphs on the rocky walls. I can sense the magic that lingers here from those long dead tribes. For a few hours we lose ourselves in the peace and beauty of that place. Then it’s back on the road again, to drop off the rental car, and spend one final night in Vegas. I don’t know why we planned it this way. Neither of us gamble, neither of us really likes the intense party atmosphere. We check into our hotel, and walk about. There are some street performers wandering around, a lot of loud Americans, most of them drunk. We eat at one of those cheap buffets, watch the people at the slot machines for a while, intense, solitary, their faces eerily lit by the bluish glow from the screens.

It’s pretty creepy, actually. I don’t like Vegas.

We’re not really talking to each other, and we’re definitely not having fun. We’re both tense about the meeting with Capheus later tonight. Baz’s manner is heavy with disapproval, and I’m just nervous.

At last my phone pings. It’s a message from Capheus. He’s waiting for us at the the Lucky Lizard Casino.

 *******

 The Lucky Lizard Casino is one of the smaller places in the old city, not on the strip where the massive hotels are, with all their cheese and sleaze. Not that the old city doesn’t have its own version of cheese and sleaze - it does. It’s just - older. And gentler. The bulbs in the marquis are incandescent - not LEDs

It takes me a while to find the Lucky Lizard. I tap the name into my GED but it doesn’t come up. Baz is following reluctantly behind me, rolling his eyes at every false turn I make. I’m pretty fed up with him, honestly. He’s being a dick. I just ignore him as much as I can, ask around, but nobody’s heard of the place. At last, I catch a whiff of magic - real magic - off one of the street performers - a juggler in a sad clown face. He’s kind of ridiculous looking, and kind of creepy. I make Baz go up to him and ask him - he’ll be able tell Baz is a magician, where as I’m just a Normal, now. He tells us where to go.

It’s down a dark alley and down a creaky flight of stairs. There’s a dank, basementy smell, even though we’re in the middle of the desert. We push open a heavy wooden door.

Inside, it’s kind of fancy. Upscale, in a way I haven’t seen in Vegas. The men are dressed in dark suits and snowy white shirts. The women are wearing slinky dresses and glittery jewelry - maybe real diamonds. I have no idea. The music is soft and low, soothing. There’s the tinkle of glasses, muted voices. The walls are red velvet. There’s a big bar along one wall, made of some kind of dark gleaming wood, with amber bottles of booze lined up against a mirrored wall. There’s people in booths, chatting and eating. In the center of the room are four large poker tables, with a line of smaller blackjack tables toward the back. All the tables are full, the gamblers utterly focussed and intense.

The whole place reeks of magic. This is not a Normal bar. I watch as a tray of food comes sailing out of the kitchen and lands on one of the the tables. The people at the table start eating, without blinking an eye.

I see Capheus right away, though he looks completely different. He’s dressed up, like the rest of the people in here. He fits right in, just as he did at the Antelope Bar, though he’s wearing a gleaming white suit, whereas all the other blokes are dressed in black. He’s seated at one of the poker tables. He nods at us when we enter, but he continues to play. Baz goes over to the bar and orders us a couple of lagers. The bartender pours them out and then they come sailing through the air to land neatly in front of us. He’s a handsome fellow with a gold ring in his nose and a Spanish accent. He starts flirting with Baz, and Baz goes along with it, because he’s angry with me, I suppose. I ignore them, sip my lager and watch Capheus play poker.

He’s a smooth player, you can see it. His eyes flick from face to face as he places his bets, signals for another card. It looks like he’s winning, as far as I can tell.

At last Capheus finishes up his game. I watch him go over to the cashier and cash in his chips or whatever. Then he comes over to where Baz and I are sitting.

He’s wearing that shining white suit (A tux? I can never tell. Baz would know), a gold tie and an expensive looking watch. The white suit makes his pale eyes look paler. His salt and pepper hair is pulled back in a neat bun. His dark skin which made him look like a grizzled outdoorsy type when I met him before, now makes him look rich, like all he has to do all day is sit by the pool and work on his tan. Even his teeth are different. I wonder - did he magic them clean and straight? Or did he magic them crooked and yellow, to fit in at the cowboy bar?

He smiles at us, but it’s not really a friendly smile.

“Simon,” he says, and he shakes my hand. Even his manner is more posh, and his English accent is much stronger. Now I can believe that he went to Watford. “Are you going to introduce me?”

I make the introductions, awkwardly. Baz takes Capheus’ hand, without enthusiasm. His whole manner is cold and sneering. He really is being an arse. But if it bothers Capheus he’s not letting on.

Capheus guides us to an empty table at the back of the casino. He orders us drinks, another round of lagers for me and Baz and a bourbon for himself. The walls of the booth are high, and it feels private.

We chat. I find him more convincing, in this elegant room, in this elegant setting, than I did in Antelope. He tells stories about my parents; funny, sweet stories, of boyish pranks, of how my parents fell in love. Of them all going into London one night to see a show, and watching the sunrise from Tower Bridge. Of my dad getting wasted at a party and getting down on one knee to my mom, declaring his undying love. I’m not sure if I believe him, but I want to. I’m drinking in these stories, and they’re like balm on a wound.

I know so little about where I came from. I’m still just that little kid inside, dreaming that someday my footballer dad and beautiful mom would come and take me away from my lonely life in the children’s home. Sometimes I’d get so mad that they were taking so long. That’s when I’d break something, or act up in class, or get in a fight. _Use your words, Simon, they’d tell me_. But I didn’t have any words for the sadness and loneliness that was inside me. I still don’t.

Most of the other kids in care had someone - an aunt or a granny or an older sibling who would come round, take them for an ice cream or to a movie, buy them some clothes or a new pair of trainers. A lot of them were in touch with their parents, who were still alive, just had some reason that they couldn’t take care of them. A lot of the parents were in prison, or drug addicts or something. But their kids still knew who their parents were. They knew there was someone out there who really loved them.

I was the only one who didn't know when my birthday was. That still rankles. I know it now - June 21st, 1997. I say it over sometimes, like a talisman, like a little piece of myself I can hold onto, when things get really bad. Baz and Penny always make a big fuss over my birthday, now that we know when it is. But all those years growing up I never got a party, never got a cake with candles, a present with a bow.

So I drink in Capheus’ tales of my parents in their youth like some kind of elixir of life. Like an addict getting a fix. I just can’t help myself.

Baz sits there the whole time with hooded eyes, the skepticism writ large on his face. I know he’s just trying to protect me, but its still making me mad. Why won’t he see how important this is to me, what this means to me?

 _Because he’s trying to hold onto what’s his_ , a little voice inside me says.

Baz always acts like king of the world, but underneath all that he’s as scared as I am. More scared, I sometimes think. He’s afraid of losing me. He always has been. Even after all this time he worries, that I’ll take up with some girl (not likely) - or just drift away.

He’s looking out for me, but he also doesn’t want anything that will change the way things are. He says he wants me to be more independent, but it isn’t really true. He doesn’t want anything to change the fact that he’s the center of my world. That I need him, so desperately, for everything.

At last Capheus runs out of stories and Baz leans back a bit. He steeples his fingers in front of his face and peers down his nose at Capheus.

“So what can you tell us,” he says,”That proves that you actually knew David and Lucy at school?”

Capheus meets his gaze, cool as a cucumber. He smiles at Baz with his white perfect teeth.

“Of course you want proof, Mr. Pitch. I understand completely.” He reaches into the jacket pocket of his suit and pulls out a brown paper envelope. He undoes the metal hasp, slowly, his eyes on Baz the whole time, and I sense the magic coming off him growing stronger, that slightly rank smell. He’s trying not to show it, but Baz’s rudeness is pissing him off.

He spreads out a hodgepodge of papers. Photos, of himself as a young man. His hair was jet black then, not grey, and he wore it longish - kind of hippy. In the photos he’s standing with the Mage, or standing with Lucy, or standing with the two of them and another curvy girl, with very long dark hair and doe like eyes, accentuated by heavy make up. “Ah, Delilah,” he says, tapping the photo. “She was a beauty, she was.” There’s one of those photo booth squares, a set of four different poses of Capheus and the Mage, making silly faces.There are letters, signed Davy. I recognize the Mage’s messy script. There’s a postcard with a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “ _Wish you were here,”_ it says. It’s signed _Love, Davy and Lucy._ There’s a school newspaper story about some play, where he and the Mage are named as cast members. I can find them both in the grainy group photo, seated with the smaller kids in the front row. They’re really young, second or third year, probably, but I recognize them. There’s a photo of the Watford fencing club with them standing side by side, taller, handsomer, more confident. The exact same cocky grin is on both their faces.

I look and look at those photos like I can never get enough. I read the letters and postcards, every word.

“You can have that one,"  Capheus says, as I pick up this one photo of my parents, their arms twined around each other, laughing and happy. Capheus is standing off to the side of the picture, looking at them fondly.

“Erm….I……” I don’t know what to say. I want it, but I don’t want it at the same time.

“Take it,” he says, pressing it into my hand.

I put the photo in my pocket. It sits there heavily, like it’s made of lead, not paper.

“Convinced, Mr. Pitch?” he asks, lightly.

“No,” says Baz. “I’m not. Photos can be doctored.”

“Some of these photos are in the Watford memory book from our year. You only need to look,” Capheus retorts.

Baz just shakes his head, disdainfully. He’s holding the newspaper article about the play, holding it pinched between thumb and forefinger as if it might be contaminated somehow. He drops it, and looks right at Capheus.

“Tell us something,” Baz says. “Something only you would know. Something we can verify.”

Capheus sits back and looks at Baz for a long moment, taking his measure. His nose twitches slightly, but he keeps his cool. Baz is gazing at him, with that cold, imperious look he gets when he’s trying to bully someone out of something. It’s like being at a high stakes poker game. It’s between the two of them, now. I may as well not be in the room.

“I don’t really like to tell that side of things,” Capheus says, looking steadily at Baz. “It doesn’t put Simon’s father in the best light.”

I speak up. “I don’t care about that,” I say. My voice sounds croaky, as if I haven’t used it in a long time. “We know….what he was. What he did.”

Capheus shifts his light blue eyes to me. They are almost colorless. “All right,” he says after a moment. “Davy wanted to make …...The Greatest Mage. He wanted to bring the New Age, an era of harmony, when magic could be freed up, to benefit all of humanity. It was….. A beautiful dream. He was going to end war, relieve suffering, make sure that there was enough for everyone. He believed that if the true magical potential that was out there was unleashed…… well ….it was limitless.”

 _Like the way my magic used to be,_ I think bitterly.

“He studied the old texts, dusty books from the top shelf of the restricted section, books written in other languages, in Elvish, in Pictish, in Ancient Runes. He was brilliant, Davy was, you have to understand. His mind went three times as fast as anyone else’s and he remembered everything he ever read. I was taken up with his brilliance, with his vision, I admit it.

“But then one night,” Capheus pauses. “Everything went horribly wrong.

“No one knows about this,” Capheus says. “No one alive, anyway, no one but me.

“It was winter solstice, our seventh year. A dark, cold night. It had snowed the night before, and everything was white, and frozen, but the clouds had blown away and the sky was clear. It was a new moon, the only light was starlight, but the stars were very bright.

“There was this boy in our year,” Capheus goes on. His pale eyes have gotten a far away look. They seem almost white in the rosy glow of the casino. “Pippin was his name. He was…. Taken with Davy. I think he had a crush on him, to tell the truth, but Davy wasn’t interested in boys. Anyway, it was a different time - we weren’t as open about that sort of thing as your generation is today. But Pippin, Pippin would have done anything for Davy. Well I think Davy realized how Pippin felt, and he took advantage of it.

Capheus pauses a long moment before going on with his story. He takes a sip of his bourbon, closes his eyes as if gathering his thoughts. At last he opens his eyes, and goes on.

“In those days, Davy thought - I’m not sure what he thought. He thought he could transform himself somehow into the Greatest Mage."

“He always told me.….I was the Greatest Mage.” I say, huskily.

“You were,” says Capheus, looking at me, suddenly, sharply. There is something in his pale eyes, a wolfish look, a sudden hunger, and I find I have to turn away.

“Davy had been studying, like I said,” Capheus goes on. “Old texts, ancient scrolls, Black Magicks. He thought he had a way, to access some of the power he knew was there, under the surface of things, waiting to be channelled. He got Pippin excited, convinced that he could help be a conduit for that power. I…..I was a fool to go along with it, I should have stopped it, somehow. If I had….” Capheus looks to the ground, ashamed. “If I had spoken up, maybe Pippin would still be alive.”

“He died?” asks Baz. He’s caught up in Capheus’ story, in spite of himself.

“The spell went…..wrong,” Capheus says. “Horribly, tragically wrong."

“What happened?” Baz whispers. His innate interest in magic is pulling him in. He wants to know.

“It took time,” says Capheus. “Most of the night. There were rituals to perform, long spells that needed to be chanted. We had brewed a special potion, it took time to take effect, and it put us in an…...altered state.”

“Were you high?” I ask.

“Kind of,” Capheus admits. “It was a magickal high, More like a hyperaware state. It’s the only way to really access that deep level of power.”

“So what happened?” asks Baz. “What went wrong?”

“Well, like I said, it took most of the night. It was just the four of us, Davy, Lucy, Pippin and me. We had asked Lucy’s friend Mitali to join us, but she would have none of it. We were in the catacombs, deep within, by the poets corner……. “ Baz takes a short breath in, and we both look at him. Something Capheus is saying rings a bell in his mind.

Of course, Baz knows the catacombs better than anyone. He hunted down there for years. His mother is buried down there. He used to go down there all the time, just to brood by her grave.

“Davy’s idea was that there was a source of power below the surface of the magic we practice every day, the magic we were studying at school. It’s like a well, like a secret underground lake. If we could access that power - well we could change the world.”

“And did you?” says Baz.

 “Yes,” Capheus says quietly. “That night, we broke in. At first it was beautiful, the magic was flowing up through the earth, into us, and we all felt limitless, unstoppable, It was wonderful. You can’t imagine, what that kind of raw power feels like.”

“I can actually,” I say. My power used to feel like that, all the time. Capheus looks at me sharply again, then goes on.

“But then - then it was too much. The power kept coming, and we couldn't control it, couldn’t stop it. It was going to take over, take over everything. At last Davy said a spell, I don’t know how he knew it, or how he summoned the strength to tamp back that wave of power that we had unleashed, but he did it. There was a huge explosion. You can still see the scorch mark on the wall of the Poets Corner, and Pippin - Pippin was dead.

“Dead?” I say.

Capheus nods. “You can find the scorch mark on the wall, and the pentagram we drew above it, to call the magic.”

“I know that spot,” Baz says quietly. “The mark is still there, and the pentagram. I’ve seen them.”

Capheus doesn’t ask what Baz used to do down on the catacombs. I wonder if he knows. The three of us sit around the table, the silence hangs in the air.

“That enough proof for you, Mr. Pitch?” Capheus asks, at last, and takes another sip of his drink.

Baz shakes his head, as if to clear it. He gets up, and shoots his cuffs, though he’s just wearing a nylon windbreaker. “We’ll think about it, “ he says. “Come on Simon.”

I don’t really want to leave. I want to hear more stories about my parents, hear Capheus’ idea for helping me get my magic back. But I get up and follow Baz, through the room of poshed up people, with its warm lighting, elegant decor and the murmuring voices of well fed diners, up the stairs, and into the Las Vegas night.

 **********

Back at our room Baz is on me as soon as the door is shut. I get it, I really do. He feels emotional and so do I. He wants the reassurance of sex, he wants to claim me, and I let him take me, against the closed door, and it's good, though really, I’d rather just talk things through, or even just sit and think. After we finish, I guide him over to the bed, and he’s asleep almost instantly.

My Baz. He’s beautiful when he’s sleeping. I brush the damp hair back from his forehead, and he smiles as if he’s already dreaming.

I go to the bathroom to piss. Then I think of the photo Capheus gave me. I’m still wearing my jacket and I take it out of the pocket. I look at the photo in the harsh light of the bathroom. The Mage (my dad) looks as he always did, just younger. I really want the photo for her. Lucy. My mother. She looks happy and young and free, her blond hair blowing about in the breeze, all soft curves and her sweet, sweet face. Her eyes are light - obviously blue like mine but I can’t tell if they're really the same shade as mine since the photo is black and white. I sit down and just study her. I wonder what my life would have been like, if she had lived. I wonder what it would have been like to have a mom, a real parent, who loved me, who cared about me, who could look out for me. A parent who could have protected me from the Mage, my psychotic dad, and all his crazy plans for me. A mother who maybe could have taught me how to use my power, instead of having it blow up in my face all the time, until it was just gone.

I’m not paying any attention to the third person in the photo. Capheus, with his cocky stance and hippie hair, until he winks at me. The black and white of the photo makes his pale eyes stand out eerily. His black and white mouth moves like he’s talking and a little speech bubble appears next to him.

 _“Meet me at the hotel pool_ ,” the words say. _“It’s on the roof_.”

*********

The roof is on the twenty first floor. I take the elevator to the top of the building. There’s one of those silky rope divider things, across the entrance, hung between two silver poles. The sign hanging from the rope says _ **Closed**._ Behind it the glass door to the roof is ajar. I slip under the rope and go in.

The pool has lights on, under the water. They cast watery shadows on the walls, shimmering gently. Capheus is standing by the edge of the roof, leaning over it, smoking, admiring the view. He doesn’t turn when I come in, though I’m sure he’s heard me. I walk over and stand beside him.

Las Vegas is spread out like a shining carpet beneath, us, glittering with thousands and thousands of lights. I can see the pyramid, all lit up, and those huge strobe light things, beaming up high into the velvety sky.

“I don’t think your friend Basilton thought very much of me,” he says.

I hassle my curls back from my head.

“I…….. Don’t mind Baz,” I say. “He’s being an arse.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Capheus says.

“He’s…..just kind of protective. He’ll come round.”

“He cares about you,” says Capheus.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” I say.

I look out over the city, shining in the middle of the black desert. The bright lights make the darkness all around us look darker. _Like magic makes the ordinary life look dull,_ I think, with bitterness.

“Thanks for the photo,” I say, into the night, not looking at Capheus.

“No problem, Simon. I want you to have…...something of them.”

“What did you do with that poor bloke?” I ask now. “The one who was killed? What was his name?”

“Pippin,” he breathes. His voice is tense.

“What did you do with.….the body?” I ask. “Surely if a student had died, there would be a big fuss, someone would have to be blamed. But I never heard anything about it. Not a word.”

“We…...Simon I’m not proud of what happened that night, or what we did afterwards.”

“I see,” I say, and I feel a cold chill in my heart.

He doesn’t say anything for a while and I wonder If he’s going to tell me. Down below us I hear the faint wail of a siren. A breeze comes off the mountains and ruffles my hair. It feels cool against my face. “Where is he?” I say at last.

“We left him down there,” Capheus says. “In the catacombs. There’s lots of places to hide a body.”

“And his family?”

“Officially, he just disappeared. Of course it was devastating for them, and bad for the reputation of the school. There was an investigation. But Davy was good at covering his tracks and they never found out.”

I don’t know what to say. I can’t look at Capheus. It’s somehow worse, to know that poor bloke was queer, that he had a crush on my evil Dad. That they tried to use him to channel all that power and it killed him. I know how he must have felt, before he died, because that kind of power has almost killed me. It’s almost killed me several times.

“I broke with Davy after that, Simon. It was never the same. I believed in what he was trying to do - but the price was too high. Davy could never see that.”

“No,” I say quietly into the night. “He never could.”

“You also paid a terrible price, Simon,” he says.

“Yes,” I say, and all of a sudden, my throat is tight and I’m fighting back tears.

“You kept that overwhelming force in check. You kept it from destroying the world, but you lost your power.”

“Yes,” I say again. It’s all I can think to say, all I can manage. My heart is pounding in my chest and my eyes are hot.

“I can help you to get it back,” he says.

I stop looking at the beautiful view over the city then and look into his face.

I can’t really read it. Should I trust this man? I want to, so much. With every fiber of my being. His skin has an odd cast in this low watery light, almost greenish, and his pale eyes are shining. The reflections of the water from the pool are shimmering over his white suit. He meets my gaze, and a chill goes down my spine.

“The method I have discovered is…… unconventional, Simon. It is out of the usual knowledge of Mages. You won’t find it taught at Watford, or in any book in the library there. Some might consider it dark - but in your case, I would say it is necessary. It has taken me years to discover it, to hone and temper my approach. You can’t share this knowledge, Simon. Not with anyone.”

“Not even with Baz?” I ask, and then realize how childish I sound.

“No,” he says, giving me the briefest of smiles. Is it pity I read in his eyes? “Not even with Baz.”

I nod at him once and my mouth feels dry. The desert breeze that felt good on my face a few moments ago suddenly feels chilly.

“I will need an oath, Simon,” he says. “A blood oath.”

I can’t say no. I just can’t. A chance to get my magic back? I’d take any risk, cross any line. I nod again. “All right,” I whisper.

“Are you sure, Simon?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure.”

“Hold out your hand, then,” he says.

It only takes a few moments. He has a silver knife rady, and a small glass beaker, like something you’d nick from a chemistry lab. He says an incantation, hoarse and whispered in a language I don’t know. He cuts my arm at the wrist, over the old scars I’ve put there myself, and lets the blood flow, collecting it in the little flask. My arm stings, but the pain is somehow steadying.

“Swear Simon,” he says huskily. “Swear to share the knowledge I am about to share with you with no one else.”

“I swear to keep what you teach me a secret. I swear to share it with no one else.”

He has a wand in his hand that I hadn’t noticed before. His white suit is glowing weirdly in the reflected light from the pool. He taps the top of my head, and I feel the delicious tingle of magic wash over me, just for a second. When I look down at my wrist the cut he placed there is healed, as if it never was. He takes the vial of blood and corks it and puts it in the breast pocket of that shiny white suit.

Then he waves his wand, and pulls something from the air. It's a small clay vase, like something you’d buy in a tourist shop around here. It's decorated with lizards and vines and flowers and things. Brown paint on the earthenware clay.

“Keep this object safe,” he says. “It contains a kernel of magic. Wait until the full moon. When the moon is risen, repeat this incantation, which I will teach you now. It will release the magic from the object, and allow you to take it into yourself. Do you understand, Simon?”

I nod once.

“There are other objects, that contain magic. They are to be found all over the world. Old vessels of power, objects that have been charmed and forgotten over time. Once you have started this journey, you will be able to find them. You will sense the magic within them.

“With each object that you are able to access, the magic within you will grow. With each object you perform this ritual on, it will become a little stronger.”

He teaches me the incantation, makes me repeat it until I have committed it to memory. Once he is satisfied, he presses the vase into my hand.

“Take it now, Simon,” he says. “I must depart. I will contact you soon. May Merlin’s Luck be with you.” He waves his wand in the air once again, and disappears from the rooftop without a sound.

I’m standing there trembling, holding that small clay vase from a cheesy souvenir shop in my hand. I’m trembling from head to foot and my heart is racing. I’ve never seen anyone in the Mage world just.….disappear like that. It’s not how our magic usually works.

Then I sense it, coming from the vase. The faintest tingle. But I know I’m not wrong. This little earthenware vase does contain magic. I can feel it.

 **********

 I return to our room and tuck the clay vessel deep in my bag. Baz stirs as I get into bed. “Where were you?” he asks sleepily, turning to me.

“Loo,” I mumble, kissing the back of his neck. He’s naked under the covers, and I like the feel of his smooth cool skin, I like the smell of him.

He sniffs at me. “You smell like you’ve been outside.”

“I went up to the roof to get some air,” I say, kissing him harder. “I just needed to think.” I work my way across to his ear, his adam's apple. I pull him close to me and press myself against him. I can hear his breathing getting deeper. He feels so good against me. I snake my hand around and rub his belly, slow and soft, the way he likes it.

“You want another go?” I murmur.

He twists his head around to look at me quizzically. “What’s got into you?” he asks.

I feel my face cracking into a smile. He’s beautiful, in the semi darkness, illuminated only by the city lights coming in the window . His pale skin is shining, slightly and his hair is very black. I feel good. I feel excited. A small flame of hope has started inside me, and I can’t seem to put it out.

“I just love you,” I say, kissing his mouth. “And it's our last night of holiday. C’mon.” I kiss him harder and his breath catches and then that’s it, we’re lost in each other, and the subject of my late night wanderings is forgotten.

 


	7. Secrets

**Baz**

Since our trip to America Simon’s been different. Meeting Capheus has changed Simon, given him a kind of hope that I haven’t seen in him in years. I know he met with him secretly, that night in Vegas, after I fell asleep. I can tell he’s hiding something from me. I don’t know what the fuck they talked about and it bothers the hell out of me but there isn’t a thing I can do about it.

It’s a wedge between us and I don’t like it. We’ve never had any secrets from each other. Not in nearly five years.

One thing that’s different is that Simon’s doing really well in school. He’s always been kind of an average student, and ever since starting Uni he’s struggled. He’s bright enough, Merlin knows, but I think the depression has made it hard to succeed academically. He doesn’t have much focus. He can waste an incredible amount of time when he has a test he’s supposed to be studying for, or an assignment due, and his marks have really suffered. It used to drive Penny mad.

But this semester, it’s different. He’s really focussed and his marks have improved so much I think he might even have a shot at medical school, which is the only thing he’s ever even vaguely wanted to do since he lost his magic. He seems happier, more energized. He’s still doing his coaching and he’s got a new job - at the Starbuck’s where I used to work. He knows all the people there because he used to hang around all the time when I was working. Everyone there knows we’re a couple and it’s just a really comfortable environment for him. I think it’s good for him.

We’re living together again for the first time in years and that’s nice too. We’ve been fixing up our flat - I’d always spent so much time at Penny and Simon’s that I’ve never put much effort into this place before, and it’s coming out great. I should be happy and I am, but I have a funny feeling about things. Simon’s cagey, distant. I could always read him like an open book, and now, I can’t. Sometimes I’ll see him staring off into space and I honestly don’t have any idea what he’s thinking about. That never used to happen. He goes off for long walks by himself through London, or he’ll go to the library to study on the weekends, but when he comes in he’ll smell of smoke and old dust, not a library smell at all.

It’s actually starting to affect our sex life which is not something I’d ever imagined could happen, but there it is. He’s working really hard at school, that’s part of it, and with my new job I have to be up at six every morning, so a lot of days there just isn’t a good time. But sometimes I almost get the feeling he’s avoiding it, staying up late at his desk studying when he knows I need to be up early. Even when we’re in the midst of it all, sometimes, I feel he’s distracted, as if his mind is someplace else. I guess it’s natural, after five years, to be a little bored with each other. I just never thought it would happen to me and Simon.

And I can’t help feeling as if it’s something more than that.

He has a secret and it’s to do with Capheus. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let that evil old goat steal Simon away from me.

*********

Another thing that’s changed this year is that I find myself socializing a lot more in the Normal world. It’s kind of expected at my new job. I didn’t really think I’d like it but I find that I do. I usually haven’t much use for socializing with Normals. I never really made any friends at Uni. Never wanted to. I had Simon and Penny, Dev and Niall. And Agatha, of course. Even though she lives in California now we've stayed close. I never felt I needed or wanted anyone else. Most people are intimidated by me anyway, and it’s easy to give them the brush off.

But when the topic is finance, what can I say? I’m interested. I’ve had some really good conversations with my co-workers at parties, or at the pub after work. I’ve brought Simon round a few times, but he mostly finds these gatherings dull, and I gave up quickly on trying to include him. I don’t blame him. Bankers tend to be fairly boring people, and once we start talking about money and investment we can get pretty abstract.

I used to like bringing him round, showing him off a bit. He’s so handsome and sexy. People naturally like Simon, anyway. I wanted people at work to see that I’m in a serious relationship, not just some irresponsible playboy or something. A lot of the blokes I work with are already married. But of course Simon was never comfortable about being introduced as my boyfriend. Which is completely ridiculous after all this time. He’d never say anything, but I’d sense his discomfort and we’d fight about it afterwards. Stupid fights - the kind that aren’t about the real issue at all, because the real issue is too hard to talk about. I hate those.

Now I mostly go to these things by myself. And the annoying bit is, Simon doesn't even seem to mind.

********

I’ve been spending more time with my family in Oxford as well. Daphne’s been ill -she was diagnosed with breast cancer a few months ago. She won’t discuss the details. Anyway, my siblings really seem to like it when I'm around. Mordelia’s at Watford now, but the twins and I have always been close, especially Bryony, and my little brothers are at the age where they just bounce around and get all excited when I come home. It’s pretty gratifying. Father is pretty stressed, as stressed as I’ve ever seen him, and I can tell he appreciates it when I’m there. Simon still feels awkward with them, and he’s busy with school and working on the weekends, so often as not, I’ve been going by myself.

We both miss Penny. I think Simon misses her a lot. They’ve been best mates since they were children, and there’s no one else who gets Simon as well, or who understands as thoroughly what he’s lost and how hard it’s really been. There’s no one else Simon feels as comfortable around, or has as much fun with. But I miss Penny too. We were allies, in the fight for Simon’s mental health. We used to both keep an eye on him, check in with each other, compare notes.

But Penny’s married now, and living with Micah in Chicago, going to graduate school, studying at the Chicago Institute of Magic. We skype with her frequently, and her life there is going really well. I’m happy for her, but I miss her all the same.

It _has_ been fun living together I have to admit. I never did much to fix this place up before because I mostly hung out at Simon and Penny’s place. They had this big rambling old fashioned flat. It was shabby, but it fit with our student lifestyle. I mostly used this place to shower and change clothes. It’s a nice flat. It’s small, but modern and it has good light and a great view out over central London from the sitting room. We've had a lot of fun fixing it up. Simon’s taken an interest in buying antiques, going to second hand shops and looking for interesting pieces of furniture and other oddments. To give the place some character he says. And with my new job, we’ve a little money to spend, for the first time in our lives, really. I found a gorgeous oriental rug at a specialty shop on Portobello Road. Well, it was expensive, but we both just fell in love with it. We bought it for a splurge and it’s really brought the whole look of the flat together.

Sometimes though… well, I hate to even think it, because it’s making him happy, and basically anything Simon takes an interest in and enjoys is something I want to encourage, but sometimes it seems odd to me that he’s gotten so obsessed with antiques. It’s very gay for one thing, and Simon is usually pretty self conscious about doing anything he thinks is too gay. So the antiquing thing is a development I should be applauding, but something about it doesn’t sit right with me. It’s part of this new caginess, this new distance that I can’t put my finger on. He seems oddly obsessed. He’s gone for hours, sometimes, tracking down tiny second hand stores in obscure neighborhoods. He’ll come home with a lovely lamp, or a salad set or something which is great, but it seems incidental to his real mission. It’s like he’s looking for something.

Why won’t he talk to me?

We had a shag the other day - it was a Sunday afternoon and we were both home - and it almost felt like old times. It was good, really good, and I managed to last a long time, even though it had been a while - well, sometimes I have trouble that way, but I was fine, and we were clenched together, feeling so good and he shouted my name as we were both swept over the edge.

Afterwards, we lay there just holding each other and breathing in that deep relaxation, wordless, like you don’t need anything at all except the other person in your arms. It's my favorite part of sex, the afterglow. I love him so much, and he looked so beautiful lying there close to me. I can still lose myself in his skin, his curls, his eyelashes, his lips.

At last he’d stirred, and smiled.

“We should do that more often,” I’d said.

“Yeah,” he’d agreed, nuzzling my neck, breathing me in.

“Want to go out to eat?” I’d asked him then. “It’s a beautiful evening. We could walk by the river for a while, go to the pub.” I’d felt like doing something romantic and couple-y.

He’d sat up then, hassled his curls back from his forehead. “I’d best not,” he’d said. “Sorry, but I’ve got an exam tomorrow.” And he got up and headed for the shower and the wall came down between us again.

*********

I’ve started looking at other blokes, I’ll admit it. I’ve started to wonder what it would be like, to be with someone other than Simon. Well, neither of us have ever been with anyone else. Everything we do in bed, we’ve worked out for ourselves. And hot as he is, he’s not the only hot guy around.

I wonder if I could be safe, with someone other than Simon. We’ve been together so long, we lived together all those long years of our childhood, it’s almost like his blood is the same as my blood. It doesn’t tempt me, quite as much as anyone else's. I’m used to it. When we were first together I was terrified I’d bite him, but it’s never happened. I wonder if that would be an issue with a new bloke, or if I’d be okay.

There is someone at work I flirt with a little. He’s a new grad, like me, and he’s dead handsome. I can tell he’s interested, and I guess I am too, a bit. I’m curious. But it’s just flirting, and there’s no real harm in that. Everybody flirts.

Except why do I feel so guilty about it, afterwards, if it doesn’t mean anything?

 ***********

We get through Christmas with my family all right, though I can see Daphne feels terrible. She’s going through treatment and her hair is gone and well…. It’s bad. Blake is six and Gregor is three and it’s really hardest on them. You can see it in the way they’re acting out a lot.

  
When Daphne was pregnant with Gregor she spent a lot of time with me and Simon. That was the period I still wasn’t speaking to Father, but Daphne would bring the girls into London and do stuff with them, take them shopping, out to tea, to the children’s museum, things like that. They’d end up at our flat for a rest. We’d get take away to eat and the girls would watch TV and Daphne’d put her feet up. We always had a lot of fun with them and it was nice.

Eventually Father started coming round as well. That’s when things became reasonably okay between us. He won’t talk to me about Simon, he won’t say the word boyfriend, but he accepts our relationship and for him, that’s a lot. I know Daphne spent a lot of time talking to him about it, and I’ll always appreciate her for doing what she did, for sticking up for me during that period.

So Simon and I spend Christmas in Oxford and we have a pretty good time. He’s still nervous around Father but he and Daphne get on and he likes my siblings well enough. He’s good with kids, Simon is. Fiona is there, with some Latvian bloke she’s seeing who hardly speaks any English. I don’t know what I think of him, but at least Simon isn’t the most uncomfortable person in the room.

Penny and Micah are in London for the holiday so Boxing Day they come over to our flat. We make a big meal and drink a bottle of wine and well, that’s the happiest I’ve seen Simon all year.

 ********

I have a dream about that bloke at work - Jeremy is his name. He’s tall - tall as me and he’s got dark curly hair that he wears kind of longish and penetrating blue eyes. His lips are thin - nothing like Simon’s - what I think of as English lips. I have to admit it, he’s pretty hot. He’s a bit flamboyant and swishy for me, really, but he’s got great fashion sense. I wonder what it would feel like, to be with someone who felt that comfortable with being gay. With Simon, being queer is just one more thing he feels conflicted and terrible about. Just add it to the list.

I have nightmares all the time, that’s nothing new. But this is different. It’s very sensual. He- Jeremy- wears this kind of spicy cologne - I’ve caught a whiff of it off him a few times. The dream starts with just that - the smell, and me following it - almost like I’m hunting. I’m at work, but it’s night. The office is dark, and I’m moving through the desks and dividers down the corridor to the loo and he’s standing there, pulling me in, bending to kiss me, magnetic, irresistible.

I wake in a cold sweat with a raging hard on.

Fuck.

I turn to Simon then. He’s used to my nightmares, used to waking up to soothe me back to sleep, but this time I want more than soothing. I want him, and once he cottons on he’s willing enough, and it’s good, really good, even though we’re both half asleep. It’s great to hold him, to push deep into him, to feel his body, strong and alive, so alive, pushing back against me, taking what I have to give and giving it right back, the resistance and the giving way.

After, though, I can’t sleep. I lie there and watch him sleep for a long time, the rise and fall of his chest, his long lashes closed peacefully against his cheek, watching his dark curls gradually turn bronze as the sky lightens and the sun rises.

He doesn’t smell of smoke any more. All that smoldering power, that acrid, green wood burny fire, is gone. He doesn’t sprout wings and fly off into the sky. His skin never shimmers and crackles with magick.

I’m so busy holding him up all the time, reassuring him that it’s okay. Telling him that it doesn’t really matter, that I love him anyway, even though his magic is gone.

Is it okay if I admit to myself sometimes, how much I miss it?

 


	8. Antiques

**Baz**

It’s a few weeks after Christmas that I find him, one night. We’d been out to the pub and I get up to piss. He isn’t there beside me, which is odd. Simon normally sleeps like a log. I don’t mean to creep on him, I really don’t, but I _am_ curious. He’s been acting so distant. I know he’s hiding something from me. The moon is bright, streaming in the bedroom window, and I forget about having to pee.

All I need to do is move quietly, which is something I do naturally anyway. I’m a hunter - I know how to move without making a lot of noise. He’s at the window in the living room, holding a bright object in the moonlight. It’s the silver teapot he brought home from an antiques shop a few days before. I recognize it instantly. I had wondered about the purchase - I’d been kind of annoyed by it, actually. It seemed fussy to me, old fashioned. The kind of thing you’d see in a glass case in some old lady’s house, not the kind of thing that fits in with the decor of this place at all, which we’ve kept modern and clean. But now Simon is holding it up in the moonlight which is pouring in the window - the full moon, I realize suddenly and my skin starts to crawl. Simon is whispering, his voice high and sibilant and the words he’s speaking are in a language I’ve never heard. I feel the tingle of magic in the air and I catch a whiff -just the faintest hint - of smoke. I watch that silver teapot glimmering, shining in the moonlight and then the thinnest wisp of silver blue smoke comes curling out the spout and I watch, frozen to the spot as Simon puts his mouth right on it, closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

I could say something - maybe I should. But it is an utterly private moment. I know he doesn’t want to be interrupted, or observed. It’s obvious. It’s like watching someone wank, or shoot up heroin. A private need, that isn’t meant to be shared with anyone else. Not even me, I guess. I’m hurt, I admit it, but also intrigued. What the fuck is going on? It has something to do with Capheus - that’s the one thing I’m sure of.

Whatever it is, it’s dark magic. Whatever it is, he wants it. I see the look in his eyes, just before he puts his mouth on the spout of that kettle and sucks in that blue smoke. Greedy. Hungry. Yearning. The look Simon gets when he knows what he wants - like nothing had better get in his way.

While his eyes are are still closed, while he’s still sucking on the spout of that teapot in the bright shimmering moonlight, so bright I can see the bronze highlights in his curls, I melt back into the shadows and get silently into bed.

*********

**Simon**

Baz doesn’t realize it, but I’m doing this for him. For us, really.

If it was up to me, I might just have ended it by now. I was really close a couple of times, times I didn’t even let him know about. After that one time, the time I ended up in hospital - well - he was so freaked out. I couldn’t stand that look in his eyes - the one where you know you’re hurting the person you love, just because of who you are. He wants so much to make me better, to change me, to fix it. He’ll never be able to accept that I’m just broken. I can’t really be fixed. So I’ve hidden certain things from him, when it’s gotten really bad. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it, honestly, to everyone. To Penny and my therapist as well. Sometimes, the only one who really knew how bad it was was Amoun. He could always tell.

But now, well, I’m avoiding Amoun to tell the truth. Because he’d know. He’d see the change in me, the change that Baz, in all his blind hopefulness, doesn’t see. Can’t see. He’s got this eternal optimism that I’m going to somehow be healed, that the power of our love can set right all the bad things that have happened to me.

I know it’s dangerous, all right? It may be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. But I’ve got to try, haven’t I? Anyone would. Anyone who’s had magic, and then had it taken away from them, would grab that chance, however slim, to get it back. My life is like that moment in the Wizard of Oz in reverse. I had magic, and the world was full of color, and then I lost it, and all the color was gone.

But now, I feel good. Better than I have in years. It’s already working, I can tell. Little things. I feel different. Magic smells different to me. I smell it on Baz. He’s really careful not to use magic around me- he knows it upsets me. But last weekend when Niall and his new girlfriend stopped by - well, they don’t really get it, or they tend to forget. They’ll use magic just to clear the table, fetch another beer from the fridge, change the channel on the telly. But I felt it all, really felt it and - it felt good - it felt great. It was like it was feeding me, feeding this little kernel of magic that’s growing inside me.

It’s hard to find the objects. I’ve spent hours - many more hours than Baz realizes. I think I’ve been to every second hand and antique shop in London - from the stalls in Camden Passage to the Oxfam on Drury Lane. Objects that contain magic are rare. And not always that easy to recognize. When I find one, well, that’s half the thrill. It’s like ….I don’t know…. Like meeting an old friend in a crowd, or hearing a strain of music that you used to love… except better. It’s a tingle, down your spine, like something you needed all along and didn’t even realize. Like sex. Like love.

The thing is, these objects are out there. Objects with just a little bit of magic. Like that silver teapot. Probably some old witch charmed that thing ages ago, then forgot about it, and it ended up in a jumble sale. The teapot was the best yet - I’m starting to figure out that vessels - like pots and cups and bowls hold onto magic better than flat objects, like plates and mirrors and candlesticks. Those candlesticks I brought home really were just a tease. I knew the magic had been there, I could still sense it, but for all practical purposes it had leaked away.

Anyway, Baz would go mental, if he knew. He hates Capheus, for one thing. And I have to admit there is something a little bit sleazy about the guy. If I didn’t think he could help me, I wouldn’t give him the time of day.

This is going to work.

I know it is.

If it doesn’t, it really is going to be the end for me.

That’s part of the reason I can’t tell Baz. Not yet. Not until I’m sure.

******

**Baz**

I have another dream about Jeremy. It’s exactly the same. Well the setting is different, but the feelings are the same. This time it’s outdoors, in the park and the moon is shining. But the smell is the same, that spicy scent, and the feeling of hunting, of pursuit, and the wanting. I wake up at the same point - just as our lips are touching and I feel terrible. Guilty. Is it possible to betray someone with just a dream?

I reach for Simon then. I want him badly. He wakes up frowsily and kisses me, and holds me, stroking my back, soothing me, as you would a child. Like I said, he’s used to my nightmares, we kind of have a routine around it. But then when I start to kiss him in earnest, he pulls away, laughing. He kisses the top of my head and begs off gently, affectionately, reminding me I have to be up at 6:00, and he has a bio lab to finish before class, an important one, and he rolls over and turns his back to me and he’s asleep.

I lie there with my boner and listen to him breathe, to the blood rushing through his veins, and I can’t get back to sleep. I feel frustrated and utterly undone. Finally I get up and wank in the shower, thinking, I admit it, of Jeremy, of that spicy smell, that lush dark hair, and then I just get dressed and do some some calculations for work until it’s time to head into the office.

*********

**Simon**

One of the cool things that’s happening is that my life in general has gotten better. Andrea, my therapist, is so pleased she’s talking about terminating our sessions. I’ve actually got more energy. I don’t know if it’s the magic, that tiny bright blue kernel glowing deep inside me, or if it's just the hope of the magic, but everything in my life is suddenly on the up. School - school is amazing. All my friends at Uni have noticed it. Nadine’s over the moon about it. She’s really great - she really cares.

It’s not like it comes easy for me - I’ll never be like Baz or Penny who can get good grades just by showing up to class and taking a few notes - but I’ve sort of figured out a strategy that works for me. For the first time since I started here I’m not behind, and it shows in my grades. Well it helps that I’m not as depressed - it’s really hard to do well in school when you’re depressed. I’m handing things in on time and doing well in my exams. If I have another semester as good as this last one was I might even have a shot at med school.

I’m enjoying my job at Starbucks too. Everybody there knows me anyway - Baz worked there for years and I used to hang out there all the time. I know it sounds dumb, but sometimes it feels good to just do something simple and mindless like make lattes for a few hours. It’s social and fun and it’s great to have some extra spending money. Everyone there knows that Baz and I are together and that makes it relaxing for me. Nobody ever thinks I’m gay when they meet me, and it's always awkward, the moment when I have to explain that I have a boyfriend.

Baz and I are okay. We’re having fun fixing up the flat, It’s good - like I thought it would be. Him and me - home together in the evenings, just being a normal couple. Making dinner at night, watching telly in our underwear. He makes the coffee in the morning, I plan most of the meals. Saturday mornings, we clean for a few hours. Saturday afternoons, we go grocery shopping. Baz likes to keep things organized.

He knows I have a secret. Sometimes when I’m studying I feel his eyes on me, and I know he’s wondering what’s going on.

Sometimes I think I’d tell him if I could. But I can’t, that’s the thing. I’m sworn to secrecy - a blood oath. Baz would shit if he knew I’d done that.

Capheus emails me regularly and, well, I’ve got to meet with him soon, for the next phase. I’ve got to figure out how to do that. He can’t come to Britain - he’s banned. But he says he’s found some really powerful artifacts in the states - objects that really pack a punch - as he puts it - and can get me where I need to get.

Magic! I can feel it growing in me coalescing, a small seed starting. I need to grow it bigger. I found a really interesting artifact for next month, at the full moon. It’s an old earthenware vase - kind of a big one. I didn’t dare show it to Baz - it’s pretty ugly. He’d never let it in the flat. I hid it down in the cellar of our building - in the caged storage unit where we keep our bikes and tennis raquets and things. The incantation works best at the full moon, so I’m going to wait till then.

When it all comes together and I have my magic again, Baz will be glad. He’ll be happy for me, I know he will be. It will all be totally worth it.

I can hardly wait.

**********

**Baz**

It’s only a week after the dream that I do kiss Jeremy. It’s at one of those pub crawls, after work. It’s the kind of thing that the married blokes usually beg off of. It’s the kind of thing that _I_ would normally beg off of as well. But tonight, I go.

I get too drunk, I admit it, even before Jeremy shows up and when he does, well, my resistance is down and it’s only a matter of time before I succumb to those deep blue eyes, that charming smile. His teeth are very white, and we snog in the loo for a long time. I get that kiss I’ve been yearning for, his thin sexy lips, my hands in that soft hair. I inhale that spicy scent, I’m surrounded by it. At last I come to my senses and wrench myself away from him. My head is spinning and I feel like shite.

I lean against the stall miserably. “I have a boyfriend,” I say.

“No worries, love,” he says, smiling that winning smile. “It’s only a kiss.”

I go over to the sink and splash cold water on my face, trying to get a grip on myself. I look terrible in the mirror, bloodshot eyes, my widow’s peak black and stark against my pale skin. I look like a vampire. I wonder how it can be that he can’t tell.

“Crowley!” I say, running my fingers through my hair.

“That’s a new one,” he says, companionably. “Never heard that one before. You do look a bit wasted, though.” He bends his head in to kiss me again.

At least my fangs aren’t popped, but I can smell his blood, can hear it thudding gently through his veins. I made sure to hunt, before I went out, but still. I’ve never been this physically close to another person, no one except Simon, and I can feel the pressure in my fangs, a dull ache.

I have to get out of here before things get out of hand. I twist out of his grasp, start reaching for the paper towel dispenser. I grab a wad of paper and start dabbing at my face. I will my hard on to go down.

“Having a spot of trouble at home, then?” he asks gently, kindly. He’s a nice bloke, really. If he had any idea of the danger he was in he’d be running out of here as fast as he could.

“I….” I run my hands through my hair. “I think I drank too much.”

“Let’s get you a cab, then,” he says.

When I get home I run for the bog and puke. When I’m done Simon is standing in the bathroom doorway in his pajama bottoms, looking utterly gorgeous, shaking his head and laughing at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. He gets me out of my clothes and into the shower. I make him get in with me. I really need him then. I need to be with someone I feel safe with. We shag in the hot water and the steam, and it’s good - hot and fast and easy, like it’s supposed to be, like it always used to be, with us.

So then after, when we’re lying in bed together, why does it feel like we’re a million miles apart?


	9. Tea At Lady Salisbury's and What Happened After

**Simon**

My grandmother asked us to tea, and I said yes. I don’t really enjoy these things, but Baz usually makes me go.

It’s always been awkward, with Lady Salisbury. She seems mystified by me - as if she can’t quite figure out where I came from. Agatha arranged for us to meet, after the Mage was finally defeated and the Humdrum was vanquished. I always make Baz come along when she invites me over, and he usually ends up doing most of the talking. I honestly wouldn’t have a thing to say to her after about five minutes but Baz manages to keep the conversation going. It’s mostly gossip about people I don’t know.

At the end of these sessions she always looks at me and gets a little moist in the eyes - searches my face as if she’s searching for traces of her daughter. Lucy. My mum, who I never got to know. There’s pictures of her up at the Salisbury’s townhouse. Playing hopscotch as a little girl, riding horses as a teenager. A graduation headshot from Watford, in a cap and gown. It’s a very standard picture, but you can see how beautiful she was. I’d like a copy of it, but I feel uncomfortable asking.

There’s pictures of her brother there too - my Uncle. I’ve never met him. He’s living in South America. I guess his magic is kind of weak and he’s a drinker. I don’t think he talks to his Mum much.

It still pisses me off, when I think about it, that he kept me from them. The Mage I mean. David Fucking Weir. I could have grown up in that posh house, been comfortable there, had a place I fit in. It could have been my photos, up on the walls, riding horses and shit, along with Lucy and Uncle what’s his name. I could have known when my fucking birthday was. But the Mage had other plans for me.

I feel kind of sorry for Lady Salisbury to tell you the truth. I was kind of dropped in her lap out of nowhere. It’s like _“Here’s your queer depressed grandson with anger issues that you never even knew you had. Good luck trying to get along.”_ It can’t be very fun for her either. And I can’t help thinking, she’d like me more, find me easier to accept, if I still had my power.

That’s my family. Freakin’ weird. Honestly, if I didn’t have Baz to come along and kind of put up a front for me I think I’d stop going.

 

*******

  
So we go and it’s the usual five minutes of her grilling me about my life and me trying to make it into a conversation.

“How is school going, my dear?” she starts as Alison, the housekeeper, brings in the tea tray. She sets it down and gets out of there as quickly as possible. Lady Salisbury picks up the silver teapot (a lot like the one I got last month at the antiques shop, actually) and pours me a cup. “Cream, my dear?” she asks. “Sugar?” She can never remember how I take my tea, though we’ve been having these little get togethers for years, by now.

“Yes please,” I say. “Both, thank you.” Of course I spill some tea as she’s handing me the cup and there’s a moment of awkwardness while she wipes it up. Baz sits back in his chair and rolls his eyes.

“School’s fine,” I say, into the dense silence, answering her question from five minutes ago. “Great, actually.” At least I have something good to report, for once.

“You’re enjoying your classes this semester?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. They’re great. And my marks have really improved.”

“He made honor roll last semester,” Baz interjects, with a note of pride in his voice. I look at him gratefully. He really does care about me. He’s actually bragging about me - like a parent or something. He accepts a cup of tea from Lady Salisbury without spilling a drop. He leans back in his chair, looking completely at ease, as if he’s been taking tea with old ladies in their parlors all his life. He somehow manages to look hot in this definitely unsexy setting. I don’t know how he does it. He selects a biscuit off a plate and eats it without making a crumb. I take one and it's like it exploded in my lap, the minute I take the first bite.

“I’ve got a new job,” I tell her, trying to keep the conversation going. “At Starbucks. Where Baz used to work.”

“Oh,” she says, sipping her tea elegantly. “That’s lovely, dear.”

“How’s your mother doing?” she asks, turning to Baz. A shadow crosses his face, and he says, “She’s managing, thanks. The treatments are supposed to end in two months, so hopefully things will get back to normal after that.”

“Do send her my regards,” says Lady Salisbury.

“Thanks,” says Baz. “I will. Have you heard how Mrs. Meredith is doing, after her operation?”

And they’re off to the races. My part of the conversation is over. I can sit back and watch Baz in action. I sip tea and make crumbs until it’s time to go.

Just as dusk is falling outside and we’re rising to leave I hear Baz’s phone ping. On the street it’s a chilly February night, misting rain, and the streetlights all have glowy little halos around them. I pull him close and kiss him, I can’t help it. I love him so much, I love the way he has my back. I kind of spent the last hour with nothing much to do but check out how hot he is. He seems pleased, surprised even. I guess I’ve been kind of distracted lately. “Let’s go home,” I whisper, kissing him again, breathing him in.

“I should hunt first,” he say, pushing me away and reaching for his phone. He glances at the screen. “Shit,” he says, handing it to me.

The text is from his dad. Malcolm Grimm. _“Daphne’s in hospital,_ ” say the words in the blue bubble. “ _She’s going to be admitted for a fever. Please call when you can.”_

 

********

**Baz**

Daphne is really quite ill, and I call in a personal day to work and head up to Oxford. Simon offers to go with me, but he’s got a big exam tomorrow and I can see he’s relieved when I tell him to stay home. I stop by the hospital, briefly, but Daphne’s had some pain medication and she’s pretty out of it. Father’s sitting by the bed, holding her hand and looking utterly miserable. They want me to go check on the children, and I’m just as glad to get out of there. I don’t like hospitals. They smell of blood in a way that’s kind of hard to ignore.

I have to hunt, I really can’t put it off any more. Luckily the woods around the lodge in Oxford are teeming with game and I get my needs satisfied pretty quickly and head inside.

They’re all sitting up waiting for me, though it’s way past the boys’ bedtime. Vera has them all in pajamas, and they’re watching TV in the den. They’re really happy to see me. The boys immediately start bouncing around and Gregor gives me a picture he drew. It’s of him and me, holding hands. He’s only three.

They have an air hockey set that they got for Christmas and I play a few games with them, but it's pretty late. Gregor has this spacey look he gets before he has a meltdown and Blake keeps rubbing his eyes. Vera makes them go to bed pretty soon after I get there. The twins and I make hot chocolate together, like we used to do when they were small, and we watch the rest of their movie. They sit side by side on the sofa, holding hands, like little kids.

As the credits roll, Bryony looks up at me. “Is Mum going to die?” she asks me, and her eyes are bright with tears.

I don’t believe in lying to children. I don’t like it.

Martina starts crying then, and I go to hug them both. It's funny, I can tolerate physical contact with my siblings better than I can with most people. Daphne uses this flowery shampoo on their hair, and the smell of it has always soothed me. I can smell their blood, I’m _aware_ of it, but it doesn’t tempt me.

“I don’t know,” I tell them, looking at their moist blue eyes. Martina’s are the darker blue, almost a violet. Bryony's are more of a cornflower blue, same as Daphne. They both have the Grimm dark hair. Bryony’s is dead straight, like mine, while Martina’s has a bit of a wave. “I think she’s okay for tonight, though. Father’s with her.”

I think about what it would be like for them, if Daphne died. If she were gone from this house. Daphne’s a fantastic mother. She’s fun and fierce and devoted to her family, and she suffers no fools. She’s even managed to be a mother of sorts to me, and I was a tough nut to crack. I greeted her arrival in my life with pure unmasked hostility. Okay - I was nine - but I was already a surly little bastard. And devoted to the memory of my mother.

“My mother died,” I tell them.

I remember the aching loneliness I felt, after she was gone. The sadness, the guilt. I still feel it, to tell the truth.

“If she does die,“ I say. “It's not your fault. It's not anybody’s fault. Sometimes things just happen. You know that right?”

They nod at me solemnly.

I make them brush their teeth and get in bed. They want to sleep together, in Bryony’s bed. Twins are funny like that. I tuck them in, snuggled together in the narrow bed. They still have a nightlight in their room, and I leave them in its rosy glow.

I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of scotch. I sit at the table by the big floor to ceiling windows that look out at the view of the woods and fields. It's dark now, of course, and the windows are black mirrors. I study my reflection, pale and stark, as always. I wonder if Simon’s still up. I could call him, I suppose. I pull out my phone and text him good night.

The crunch of gravel on the driveway, a key in the lock, and Father is home. He comes into the kitchen, looking more done in than I have ever seen him. He sits heavily at the table opposite me. I get up and pour him a scotch. He takes it from my hand wordlessly, and drinks deeply.

“How is she?” I ask him.

“She’s asleep,” he says. “The fever’s down. They told me to go home and have a rest. How were the children?”

“Fine,” I say. “Gregor drew me a picture, and the girls had a cry.”

“It's hard on them,” he says glumly, staring into his scotch.

“Of course it is,” I say. “How could it not be?”

“Thank you for being here, Basilton,” he says. “Don’t you have to be at work in the morning?”

“I took a personal day,” I say. “I’m at your disposal until tomorrow evening.”

We chat about work for a while. Father is interested in what I’m doing - it pleases him, that I’ve followed in his footsteps and gone into finance. Now that I’m out in the working world we have that in common. It’s kind of nice to have this to share. It’s nice to be able to run things by him, get his perspective. This is how he always wanted it to be, between us, I imagine. It's as if the years of our estrangement have fallen away.

“How’s Simon?” he asks at last, and I’m surprised. He usually avoids referring to Simon at all, like if he ignores him, maybe the fact that I have a boyfriend will just go away.

“He’s…..fine,” I say cautiously. “Good actually. He’s doing really well at Uni. Just had his best semester ever.”

“Poor bloke,” he says, sighing, rising to go to bed. ”It must be terrible for him, having lost his power like that.”

“It is,” I say quietly, but secretly I’m amazed. I never knew father was paying attention to Simon, to the tragedy that is the story of his life, but apparently I was wrong.

“I’m all in,” he sighs. He looks it. “Good night Basilton.” And he’s off to bed.

It’s only as I’m getting into my own cold, lonely bed that I think to check my phone. Simon never texted me back.


	10. Shattered

**Simon**

I feel bad lying to Baz, I really do, but I can’t let this opportunity go by.

There’s this place way up near Manchester I’ve been dying to check out - its a huge antiques barn. Some old bloke in a little shop down in Camden Passage told me about it. He likes me - Mr. Wilkins. He’s about a hundred years old. And bent, like me. I mean, I think he is. I’ve never asked him, and I’m usually terrible at stuff like that. Baz always knows, instantly, what a person’s sexual orientation is, and he’s never wrong. If I even bother to think about it, I can never tell. But Mr. Wilkins is kind of obvious, the way some older gay guys are.

Anyway, he’s taken a shine to me, Mr. Wilkins has. He says it’s a treat to meet a young bloke with a genuine interest in antiques. He’s been saving out some pieces for me that he thinks I’d be interested in, giving me a break on the price. Of course, I can’t tell him what I’m really looking for. Magic. But he’s nice, and it’s nice to have someone take an interest that way. He told me about this huge antiques barn in Manchester. I’m sure I’ll find something good there. The train leaves a 5 AM. I buy a ticket online.

For tonight - well the moon’s only half full. I should really wait another week but I’m not sure that I can. I know that vase is down there, hidden in the basement, with its promise of magic. More magic, glowing inside me. The incantation will still work tonight, just not as well as if I wait for the full moon.

I try to distract myself. I study for a couple of hours. I really do have a bio exam tomorrow. I’m going to skive off, but I’ll still have to make it up. Can’t let my grades fall - that’s part of the distraction. Baz is so happy I’m doing well in school, he doesn’t want to rock the boat. I brush my teeth, get into bed, but I can’t sleep. I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I toss and turn, but the half moon is shining bright in my window, and the magic is calling to me. I know it’s there, for the taking. I could have it tonight.

I try to wank, but it’s no good. My restlessness isn’t really about that. I want magic, not sex. Eventually, I get out of bed, pull on some trousers. I know I might be wasting some of the magic, but I can’t help it. I feel my way down to the basement in the moonlight. The vase is hidden in our storage area, behind some boxes. I find it easily, in the dark. I can feel the magic radiating off it, drawing me.

Carrying the vase back up to our flat I’m starting to get excited. Really excited. This is going to be good. This vase is the best object I’ve found so far. The magic is pulsing in it. I can taste it, in the back of my throat, a smoky taste, and something danker, darker, like earth, or blood. I hesitate for a moment, wondering. Some objects might have black magic after all. I don’t really know, do I? There are things about magic I’ve never understood, not that well. I didn’t grow up learning about it, the way Penny and Baz did. I’ve always relied on them for that, to understand things at a deeper level, and to steer me away from danger. But I’m on my own now. Neither one of them would approve of what I’m doing. I’ve already crossed that line.

Back up at the flat, I set the vase down on a small table by the window, in front of that posh carpet Baz fell in love with and spent way too much money on. The moonlight is streaming in. Its awakening that small kernel of magic inside me, resonating with it. I can feel it, stronger than I ever have. And the vase, squat and ugly, is shimmering with it as well. Nothing you can see, it's not glowing or anything, but I can feel the magic coming off it in waves, more powerful than anything I’ve experienced yet. I want that magic. I want to take it inside me, and add it to the faint glow of magic that’s building within me.

Power. I remember, what it was like, to have power. Endless, unfettered power. Power, rolling off me, all the time, so much power I had to keep stifling it back. When I had it before, it terrified me. I didn’t know how to handle it then. And now, I miss it, like a yearning, like an endless ache.

Just a little bit of that power is in that vase, and I want it. I want it now. I can’t wait another minute.

I strip out of my trousers and I’m naked, in the moonlight. It’s an electric tingle, on my skin. Every inch of me feels alive, sensitive. It's not like before, when magic shimmered and crackled on my skin. It's like an echo of that. It makes me remember, what it was like. It makes me want it more.

I hold the vase, grasp it with both hands. It’s pulsing in my hands, alive. I close my eyes, recite the incantation, standing there naked in the moonlight. The vase grows hot, then cold, then hot again, and then, (I’m not expecting this) it shatters. Bursts into a million fragments in a whoosh of power that blows out the window I’m standing in front of. Shards of pottery and glass hit my naked skin, and I feel a million little cuts all over me, like a rain of fire. I open my eyes. Our living room is a mess, broken glass and pottery shards everywhere. The vase has been pulverized by the power escaping from it. There’s nothing left of it but dust. Dust and magic. The magic is hanging in the air - blue smoke with a reddish tinge to it. Quickly before it dissipates I waft it towards me, with my hands, and breathe it in. I suck it down, deep into my lungs. There’s more than I can take in. I’m gulping at it, desperately. I don’t want any of it to escape. I cup it in my hands and drink it in, that beautiful magic, like water after a long drought. It enters me, all through me, mixing with my blood, coalescing in my bones, warming every muscle in my body with its heat. I feel that bright kernel in me, glowing brighter, pulsing with blue-red fire.

Then, suddenly, I’m exhausted. The magic is no longer hanging in the air (it’s inside of me) and I can’t even hold my head up. It’s like after sex, that overwhelming need to sleep. I lie down on the floor, on the ruined carpet covered with shattered glass and dust and I don’t remember anything more.

********

I wake up, and the freezing February wind is blowing in on my naked body. The moon is setting over the lights and buildings of London. I’m covered in blood and dust and fragments of shattered glass. There’s no sound, even though the window is gone and the city is spread out below me. But even London is quiet at this hour.

Then I taste it, in the back of my throat. Like smoke from a fire of green wood. The smell and taste of my very own magic, that’s been gone for nearly five years. There’s another taste there, a ranker, more rotten taste, but I ignore that, for now. My magic is coming back. I sit on the floor, on our lovely oriental carpet that’s covered with broken glass and blood, and I weep.

At last I get up and check the time. It’s after four. I’ve got to run, if I’m going to make my train. I’ve no time to shower, or clean up, or do anything about the broken window. Maybe I can get back here and set things right before Baz gets home.

I throw on some clothes, wash the blood off my face. It doesn’t do much good. There’s hundreds of little cuts that just keep oozing. I look like I’ve been in a car crash, or a brawl. I grab my wallet and my phone and head for the station.

********

  
**Baz**

I spend the morning at the hospital with Father, sitting by Daphne’s side, talking to the teams of doctors that stream in and out of her room. Oncology. Hematology. Infectious disease. I guess the treatments have caused her blood counts to go dangerously low, but they’ve got her on four different antibiotics and they think they’ve got her stabilized. She does seem better, well enough to smile at me and then remind Father that Blake has a football match after school and Bryony has a piano lesson.

At noon I leave them and go pick Gregor up from preschool. He’s over the moon to have an afternoon with me. We go to the play park, even though it's freezing cold, and get an ice cream in the village. I drop Gregor off with Vera, and go on to Blake’s football match. Father meets me there. He never went to my football matches when I was little, but now Daphne makes him do shit like that. We stand there, side by side in the cold wind and watch Blake’s team lose. Afterwards, I can see he’s struggling not to cry. Poor little bloke. We take him home and I drive Bryony to her piano lesson. I started teaching her when she was five and she’s really getting pretty good.

I have an early supper with all of them back at the house and then it's time to go. It’s hard to leave them, especially Bryony. She doesn’t say anything, but she’s staring at me with these blue sad eyes and I know she doesn’t want me to leave. I squeeze her arm as I get up from the table. “Keep practicing,” I say to her. “I’ll bring my violin next time I come and we can play some duets.” She smiles at that. I’d stay another night, I really would, but Daphne is officially out of the woods and I should be at work tomorrow. Taking a personal day is okay once in a while, but two days in a row would be frowned on.

I stop by the office before I go home to pick up some work to make up for tomorrow. Of course Jeremy is there, working late.

"Oh," he says, looking up at me. I can tell I've caught him off guard, and for a moment, he looks nervous. Then he flashes me that rakish smile. "It's you."

Aleister forgive me, we wind up in the men’s loo, snogging. It’s better this time. I’m not wasted, for one thing. And I’m less nervous. I hunted right before I left Oxford. I can smell Jeremy’s blood, but it’s a faint whiff, nothing I can’t handle. I can smell the heady smell of his cologne and under that a ranker more animal smell. Him. It’s sexy as hell.

At last we break apart. “How’s your bloke?” he asks, breathing hard, the color high in his cheeks.

I look at the ground, guilty. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to think about Simon right now. He didn’t even text me back last night.

This time, it's Jeremy who moves away from me. Goes over to the sink, washes his face. The loo at our office is very nice, all black marble, veined with gold, big mirrors and nice lighting. There’s a big vase of dried flowers in the corner, spray painted gold.

“I don’t usually do this,” he says, looking at himself in the mirror, straightening his tie. It’s pink silk, with a gold tie pin. It looks gorgeous with his blue eyes. Like I said, he’s got great fashion sense.

“Do what?” I say, also gathering myself up, to face the outside world. I leave the stall and stand beside him, at the other sink. I lean against the counter and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is mussed and my pupils look very black. I’m just wearing jeans and a polo because I’m coming in from home. “Fool around with someone at the office?”

“Fool around with someone who’s as fucked up as you are,” he says dryly.

“Fucked up?” I say. Is it that obvious? I work so hard to hide it.

“I’m not fucked up,” I say. I hear myself, and I sound defensive, childish.

“Oh darling,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re a trainwreck.”

He takes my chin in his hand, and his lips brush mine. “Very, very hot,” he says. “Smoking. But a complete mess.” And he’s gone, leaving me staring at my own stupid reflection in the mirror.

By the time I drag my pathetic self out of the loo Jeremy has cleared out. I drive home slowly, trying to get my head straight. I’m yearning for Simon’s arms around me, and bed.

I open the door to our flat and it’s like a bomb has gone off in there. Broken window, dust everywhere. The wind is blowing some scraps of paper around the room. Not a clue what’s happened to Simon.


	11. Chest

**Simon**

It isn’t hard to get a carriage to myself, with the way I look. The few passengers traveling to Manchester at this early hour give me a wide berth. My face is still bleeding, and I can feel a black eye forming. I didn’t even notice it before. And I stink of smoke.

Again.

I stink of smoke, again. I haven’t smelled of smoke in five years. When I was growing up, everyone thought I smoked cigarettes, everyone in the Normal world. I couldn’t get rid of that smell of magic, that hung around me. That’s all been gone since I was eighteen years old. That’s how old I was, when I defeated the Humdrum. That’s how old I was, when I saved the world, and lost my magic.

I wasn’t really very old.

With a lurch the train leaves the station and we’re traveling through the pre-dawn darkness, lit up with glimmers of harsh red sodium lighting from the trainyard and the streets of London. I stare at my beat up reflection in the dark glass of the window.

If I hadn’t ever known there was magic, I would have been okay, I muse. I’d just be a normal fucked up young bloke now, like the rest of the guys I grew up with in care. Maybe I’d be running drugs tonight, maybe I’d be in jail. Maybe I’d be sitting around some grungy flat with a girlfriend and a couple of kids, fighting about how to pay the electric bill or something. If the Mage had left me alone, if he hadn’t come round when I was eleven with his stupid Robin Hood cloak and his boots, if he hadn’t set off a nuclear explosion inside my chest and handed me a magick sword…….. Well, it's not like I ever would have missed it. I wouldn’t hunger for it now, yearn for it. I wouldn’t be desperate enough to do anything to get it back.

The more magic I have, the more I want, it seems. That ember of magic is stronger than ever, I can feel it inside me, pulsating ever so slightly, glowing with its blue white heat. I want to feed it, I want to grow it bigger. It's making me hot - I take off my jacket, then my jumper. I’m down to my white, blood stained t-shirt and I’m tempted to take that off as well.

I wonder if I’ll still be able to call my sword. The Mage gave it to me, after all, and he never took it back. I put my hand to my thigh. Nothing. Not yet.

Finally I decide to check my phone, and it’s then that I see Baz’s text from the night before. Shit. I never even thought about him last night, not once. With a guilty twist to my stomach, I wonder how Daphne’s doing. It sounded pretty serious, when he left to go see her.

It's too early to text back now. I’ll call him in a couple of hours, when he’s awake.

Or maybe I should just leave it be. Let him think I’ve gone AWOL for a little while. I can make up an excuse - tell him that something upset me at work or some other bullshit. Tell him I lost it, and that’s why I broke the window. It wouldn't be the first time I’ve broken something, in a fit of anger or despair.

I hate to lie like this to Baz, but I don’t see any other way. Not until the mission is complete. Then, I keep telling myself, he’ll be glad.

Once I have my power back, Baz will be so happy, he won’t question what I had to do to get there.

Just like I’m not questioning it now.

 *********

 

I take a cab to the antiques barn and its great - huge like Mr. Wilson told me it would be. The proprietor is an older guy as well, but different from Mr. Wilson. This guy is grizzled, with bloodshot eyes, like he’s a drinker. He’s got a gap toothed smile that’s a bit creepy, to tell the truth. He looks at me through narrowed eyes, like he can’t figure out what a bloke like me is doing out at his barn on a Monday morning. I lay on the gay, a little bit - I’ve learned to do this from Baz. I see his mind click onto the fact that I’m queer and then I see him visibly relax as he categorizes me. Just another harmless fairie. He leaves me in peace while I rummage through the masses of stuff he’s collected.

It doesn’t take me long. There’s probably more here, but the object I find is so great, so obviously powerful, that I can’t really think about anything except getting it out of there, getting it hidden away, in a safe place. If there are other objects here, and there almost certainly are, I’ll have to come back, and find them another time.

It’s an old wooden box - a small chest really, small enough to pick up and carry about, but it’s heavy. It’s like a pirate’s treasure chest, made out of some kind of dark dense wood, studded with metal. The hinges are ornate iron affairs, and there’ a hasp that closes in front, with a big iron ring to put a padlock through, though it's not locked, fortunately. Inside it’s empty. It smells of dust and of magic.

The creepy old proprietor wants 100 quid, and I want it so much I’m almost willing to hand it over to him without bargaining, but I talk him down to 50 easily enough. I haul my treasure outside, into the waiting cab and head back to the station.

Problem is, I don’t want to take the chest on the train. It’s too obvious, looks too weird. And what am I going to tell Baz when I haul it home? He won’t like the way it looks, won’t think it fits in with the decor of the apartment.

I can feel the magic in it, pulsing, calling to me. I know it's the middle of the day, but wouldn’t it be simpler, easier, to just take the magic now? Then I won’t have that heavy chest to drag around, then the magic will be inside me, joined with me, where it belongs.

I pay the cabbie. I’ve an hour before the next train to London. There’s a little woods behind the station, dense enough that I can get a bit of privacy. It’s a bit awkward, carrying the trunk out there - the ground is uneven and muddy, covered with patches of wet slushy snow. The sun is shining weakly through the trees. I stumble along, the heavy chest unbalancing me, until I’m hidden by the trees and bushes and shit. It’s cold out, but I feel hot. I’m sweating. I smell the rank smell of my sweat, mixed in with the smokey smell of my magic. I think of Baz, suddenly, with a pang of guilt, but I can’t worry about him. Not right now. After. After, when the beautiful magic is in me, I’ll go home, and I’ll tell him everything. I won’t be able to keep it from him any longer anyway. He’ll smell it on me the second he sees me.

I strip down, in the chilly woods, until I’m naked. Starkers. I’m not cold at all. Heat is pouring off me. The cold air actually feels great, against my hot skin. I grasp the chest in both hands, and I recite the incantation. I open the heavy lid of the chest. It makes a creaking sound. I’m so excited, my hands are trembling. I want that magic, want it inside me. And there it is, the wispy blue smoke, barely visible in the wan winter sunlight. I put my face into the trunk and breathe it all in, that sharp smokey beautiful magic. I feel it entering me, swirling into my lungs, mixing with my blood, coalescing with my bones, my spleen, my liver. It's going to my brain, filling it with white hot magic light. This is strong, powerful magic, more than I’ve taken in with any other object. Power, power entering me, intoxicating beautiful power. It’s almost getting to be too much. I need to take a break, stop breathing it in, get some air, but I don’t want to waste any of it. I feel the magic pulsing in my thigh. It’s my sword, wanting to materialize. I feel it coalescing in my back, behind my shoulder blades, in my tailbone. My wings want to pop out again, so does my tail. My magic, the smell of it, green wood burning, is overwhelming. I need to stop it, but I don’t know how.

And then the earth trembles. There’s a loud boom, like an explosion, and all I see is the hot white light of magic, everywhere. And just before I pass out, I hear a familiar voice, a snide childish voice that I haven't heard in five years.The blue white heat of my magic coming back to me is replaced by a familiar dry suck and I hear a red rubber ball bounce once on the hard ground. I’m almost gone, unconsciousness is crowding into my brain, the need to close my eyes is overwhelming, but I force them open and stare at him, just for a second.

He’s the same as he ever was. An eleven year old version of me. Crappy jeans that don’t fit right, grubby white t-shirt, bad haircut. Pale blue eyes and freckles, and that snide sneer that I swear I never had.

“Hello, Big Bro,” says the Insidious Humdrum, grinning wickedly at me just before I pass out. “I’m back.”

********

 

**Baz**

I stand there in our ruined living room and I don’t know what to do. The cold wind is blowing in the broken window, but it’s not enough to drive away the smell. The whole room is dense with it. Simon’s blood. Simon’s smoky magic. I haven’t smelled it in nearly five years, but it's not like I’m going to forget it, am I? I sit down heavily on the ruined sofa, in the cold wind and I try to take it all in and think what to do. I have no idea where he’s gone or when he’ll be back. I pull out my phone and stare at the screen. Nothing from Simon. Radio silence. I text him again. _“Where are you?”_ Then I call him, but I get his voicemail. _“This is Simon. You know what to do.”_

“What the fuck is going on?” I whisper into the recording. It’s only after I hang up that I realize that message might not be the most encouraging.

I text again. _“Call me? Please? I love you.”_

I sit there and wait, but there’s no response. I think I might call Penny, although what good she’ll be to me hundreds of miles away in Chicago I don’t know. At last I leave the freezing apartment and head out again.

I go to Amoun’s restaurant, in Cheapside. He opened this place about a year ago, and it’s his pride and joy. It’s a beautiful little place, cozy and inviting. It’s decorated in reds and oranges, with gorgeous persian miniatures on the walls and fairy lights on the ceiling. He is sitting behind the small cheerily lit bar, as usual. He takes one look at me and makes me sit down and fetches me a cup of scalding mint tea from the kitchen.

“How are you my cousin?” asks Amoun, smiling at me kindly.

“Simon’s missing,” I say.

He looks at me, his eyes suddenly sharp with concern.

“What has happened?” he asks at once.

“I……” I don’t know where to begin. “He met someone,” I start.

“Met someone?” says Amoun evenly. “Go on.”

“He’s…...a Mage.” I say hesitantly. “It’s…..not romantic or anything, but this bloke - he’s an older guy - he promised Simon…...something…..”

Amoun’s eyes are large and gentle. Amoun is the kindest person I have ever met. He stands there quietly, waiting for me to continue.

“We met him last summer - while we were at Penny's wedding in the States. And since then Simon’s been - different. Not right. Cagey. I know he’s hiding something from me. This bloke - Capheus is his name, swore him to secrecy , and…..I think he told Simon he could get his magic back somehow. Since then Simon’s, well, he’s been better actually, in a lot of ways, less depressed, doing better in school and stuff, but something’s not right.”

“Capheus?” says Amoun quietly. “I know Capheus.”

“You do?”

“He is a dangerous man,” says Amoun, his eyes boring into me.

I just swallow, and shudder. I knew it!

“Where is Simon now?” asks Amoun.

“I’ve no idea,” I say. “I was hoping you would know.” Simon trusts Amoun as much as he trusts anyone.

Amoun shakes his head sadly. “I have not seen Simon for many months,” he says. “I have been wondering, actually, why he has been keeping himself away.”

“Probably afraid you’d notice the change in him,” I say. “I …..I smelled it tonight, Amoun, his magic. Remember how he always used to smell of smoke? Like a fire of green sticks burning? Well tonight, at our flat, it was like an explosion had gone off, and he’d obviously been bleeding, but I smelled it - that smoky smell.”

He stares at me in horrified silence. “You’ve no idea where he’s gone? What happened to him?” I shake my head morosely, no.

“He won’t pick up the phone, won’t text me back,” I say.

“This cannot be good,” says Amoun.

The bar is quiet - it’s a Monday night. The few diners in the warmly lit room are finishing their food and gathering themselves to go home. There’s the gentle murmur of voices, of well fed, contented people, mingling with the soft, middle eastern music playing in the background. The smell of rice and lamb fills the little room, fragrant and delicious. I don’t know what to do next. If we had a scrying glass we could try looking for him that way. I could call Penny, I suppose. He might have called her - Simon still tells Penny everything. Or I could even try that friend of his from school, Nadine, though I don’t have her number.

While I’m sitting there, reviewing these bleak options in my mind, my phone vibrates. An unfamiliar number. I answer and it’s a strange female voice, both bland and crisp. I listen in near silence while she relays her information to me. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. Thank you.”

I look at Amoun, who is eying me with grave concern. “Simon’s in hospital,” I say. “Up near Manchester. There was some kind of explosion in the woods. He’s…...He’s in a coma, they said. Serious condition.” I rise, leaving my empty teacup on the bar. “I have to go,” I say.

“I will go with you,” says Amoun at once. “Matlan!” he calls.

Amoun’s son comes out from the back of the restaurant, looking surly. He’s about our age, but Amoun couldn’t afford to send him to Watford. He was in trouble with the law a few years back, and his dad keeps him on a pretty tight rein. He and Simon get on quite well. I’ve never liked him.

“I must go, Matlan. Simon is in some kind of trouble. You must mind the restaurant, until I return.”

Matlan greets this announcement with a hostile glare, towards both me and his father. He strides over and his father hands him a set of keys.

“Don’t forget to lock up,” he tells his son gruffly.

“I won’t,” says Matlan. “When will you return?

“I don’t know,” Amoun replies. “There is a delivery expected at 8 o’clock tomorrow morning. You must be here to meet the truck.”

“All right,” says Matlan, looking bored.

It seems there is a long list of things that Matlan must not forget to do. He stands there, radiating hostility, while his father rattles them off. At last we are in the car, making our way through the night time streets of London, then finally north on the motorway, to Manchester.

********

 

**Amoun**

Capheus! How can Capheus be tangled up with Simon?

Of course, it makes perfect sense, in a way. All Capheus has ever wanted is power. And Simon is a conduit for power. His father saw to that, before he was ever born.

Capheus, and his hunger for power nearly led me to my own destruction.

How could I fail to see this coming?

Basilton’s face is grim and pale, and I sense the heartbreak coming off of him. His white hands grip the steering wheel, hard. He looks like his mother -more so as he matures into adulthood. He is so like her - the same steely determination, the same unforgiving nature.

I believe he is harder on himself than on anyone.

I close my eyes as the car speeds towards Manchester on the motorway. It is an expensive car and the ride is so smooth, we could be flying, hovering slightly, the wheels not touching the ground. I try to empty my mind, to see the pattern, to see what role I must play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you not familiar with Amoun, he is an original character from my previous fic, Watford Tales. Sorry if you don't know him, but he seemed to fit in here and I couldn't leave him out. PB


	12. Wings Over Manchester

**Simon**

I come to slowly, in a strange room, with strange smells. My head aches. It’s a deep ache, like my brain is being held in a vise. My skin feels super sensitive, burning. I hear a low persistent beeping, the sound of my own heart beating. I’m on a monitor. Someone’s holding my hand and I know it’s Baz.

I moan and stir, and the beeping sound of my heartbeat speeds up. When I open my eyes the lights are very bright. Harsh and fluorescent. Baz’s worried face swims into my field of vision. He smiles at me hopefully, and I smile back. It’s good to see him. He squeezes my hand, and I see his expression relax with relief as he realizes that I’m okay. He bends to kiss me, and I kiss him back.

The smell hits us both at the same time, I think, and Baz takes a sharp breath in and pulls away. My magic - green and smoky, like it used to be. He’s staring at me, his whole face a question, and then I remember. The wooden chest, the delicious wonderful smoke, the explosion, the Humdrum. Someone coughs on the other side of the room, and there is Amoun, sitting in a chair, patient and wise, as always.

I’m wracked with guilt. I never should have…..I should have known, something like this was bound to happen, and now it's too late. My magic is back, but so is the Humdrum. That was the price I had to pay. I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t.

“Simon,” Baz breathes. He inhales again and I see his nose twitch. I don’t know if he’s reacting to the smell of my magic, or my blood. “What the fuck happened?”

I put my hand to my head. There’s a big lump there, and a rough bumpy line. Stitches. Everything hurts. My whole body feels achy, like I’ve been tossed around roughly. I look over at Amoun. He looks at me as he always does, with concern and understanding. Like someone who actually cares about me. Like a parent.

I shake my head, and moan. It makes my headache worse, a sharp shooting pain. I turn to the wall, away from both of them. These people who love me, who would do anything for me.

My magic is rising, like it always used to when I got upset, and the smell of smoke in the room is getting stronger. “I…..don’t remember,” I lie.

I fucked up. I’m ashamed. I can’t admit it - to Baz and Amoun, what I’ve done. They’d do anything to help me, sacrifice anything. They already have.

The Humdrum is back. I’ve got to find a way to fix this, before it gets out of hand.

I close my eyes, and pretend to be asleep.

*******

**Baz**

It's a long day in hospital with Simon.

I didn’t sleep last night, and like I said, I don’t like hospitals. They smell of blood - too much blood - and it sets my teeth on edge. It’s distracting. The extra effort I need to make, to keep my fangs from popping, is exhausting.

I doze in a chair beside Simon, who’s sleeping, or pretending to sleep. I’m not sure which, but I suspect the latter. The doctors bustle in and out, check Simon’s pupils and his reflexes, tell me he’s fine, he’ll sleep it off. They seem to think that he’s been drinking, and one young female intern sits me down, for a long time, and talks to me about the dangers of smoking, and how Simon really should give it up. Amoun hangs around until about noon, but really, nothing’s happening. Simon seems okay, at least for the moment. Eventually Amoun stands up from the chair in the corner of the room, where he has been stationed like a wise and protective Buddha. He apologizes, explaining he should be back at his restaurant before the dinner rush. He looks into my eyes for a long moment.

“Let me know, if there is anything you need,” he says to me.

“I will,” I promise.

“Have Simon come and see me, when he is well. I would like to talk with him.” And he leaves, heading for the train back to London.

 

*******

**Amoun**

There is much amiss. Gravely amiss. I don’t like the smell of things. I don’t like the smell of Simon, nor do I like the look in his eyes.

Simon has always been completely open with me. I could always read him, right from the very night we met, that cold snowy night in London so long ago, when he came to me, out of the darkness, and drank my tea and ate my lamb. I guessed who he was right away, of course, the aura of magic around him was so thick and powerful then it was hard to mistake him for anyone else. He gave me his trust without even thinking about it, and I have always been grateful for that. Grateful for his trust, and for the role I have been allowed to play. After he prevailed, and after he lost his magic, I have tried to guide him, tried to heal him, although his wound is so deep and painful. Throughout it all he has remained open with me.

But now Simon is hiding something from me. I see it in his eyes.

I sit back in the train and watch the countryside rolling by as I head back to London.

Capheus! How can he be mixed up with Simon? Capheus and I have been enemies for decades. Although I remember, how alluring he can be. I once fell under the spell of Capheus myself. I was once entangled in his webs.

The spider!

I barely got away. I am lucky I survived my entanglement with Capheus. I lost everything. He is the reason I am here, in this strange cold land, struggling to make a humble living.

The look in Simon’s eyes reminds me of the look in my own son’s eyes. Closed. Hostile. Impatient. As if I will never understand the world as he sees it. As if he is just waiting for me to get out of his way, so he can get on with his own life, with the things he really cares about.

 

********

**Baz**

They release Simon from the hospital in the late afternoon, after making him sign about a million pieces of paper. By the time we get through all the paperwork evening is falling and I’m completely knackered. I didn’t really sleep last night, just dozed in the chair beside Simon, holding his hand.

I get us a room in a big, ugly hotel at the edge of the city, near the airport. They have room service, so I order us some sandwiches and chips. He switches on the TV. There’s a football match on, and we watch in desultory silence, the smell of Simon’s magic filling the room.

I honestly don’t know what to say to him, or what he’s thinking. Clearly he’s gone behind my back. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it.

At last we shut out the lights, and in the dark, we turn to each other. What can I say? Even though we can’t talk to each other, it feels good to hold him. I want him, more than ever. I want him so badly, I almost can’t stand it. And it’s all right. It’s good, it’s better than good. Simon’s arms around me, holding me. He’s kissing me, pressing against me, hard, urgent, his breath coming fast, the taste of smoke in the back of my throat, the way it used to be. He rolls over, onto his belly. I grab some of the cheap lotion from the bathroom and slick him down and he’s pushing back against me, moaning, wanting me. I want him, too. I enter him, but I know the minute I do, that I don’t really have any control and the goodness of it - the pressure , the heat, the emotions, overwhelm me, and it's over way too fast. This happens to me sometimes, especially when I’m upset.

I feel terrible about it, though. We lay there together, while I get my breath back. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss his ear.

“S‘all right,” he sighs, and twists his face around, his mouth on mine.

I shift, and grab hold of his cock to bring him off, even though I’m so wiped out I could fall asleep right this second.

His dick is limp in my hand. I give it an experimental tug and it just lays there.

“ ‘’sall right, “ he says again, sighing into me.

A cold shiver goes through me. Crowley. This has never happened before. Sometimes I come too fast, but Simon always wants me to finish him off.

“Simon,” I say. “You’ve got to fucking tell me what’s going on.”

“Just want to sleep,” he groans, burying his face in my shoulder.

“No,” I say. “Talk to me.”

He sighs and rolls over and closes his eyes.

“You stink of magick, Simon. Something’s happened.” I shake his shoulder impatiently.

He rolls back towards me and looks at me through half closed eyes. “Capheus,” he breathes.

“Duh,” I say. I’m pissed off suddenly. “I’ve worked out that part for myself.”

“He showed me how. How to get it back.”

I don’t know what to say.

Suddenly, as if startlng awake from a dream, Simon sits up and looks right at me. “The Humdrum,” he says, and there are tears in his blue eyes.

“What?” I say and a chill runs down my spine. “What about him? He’s vanquished.”

“He’s back,” Simon says.

“No,” I whisper, as the horror of that possibility hits me. “How….how could he be?” Though in an awful way it makes sense. Simon’s power has always been linked to the Humdrum. If it’s back then he could be too.

“I saw him’” he says. “He was there. This time, when I took the magick. I saw him.” He passes his hand over his eyes, trying to remember.

“Maybe….maybe you dreamed it,” I say. He shakes his head.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I don’t think so. I felt him - you know that feeling? That dry suck?”

I do indeed.

He closes his eyes and his magic comes, shining on his skin, the way it used to, filling the room, the dense smoky smell. The power is rolling off of him, but this time, it's different. It smells different. There’s the green smoky smell of Simon’s magic, so familiar it nearly breaks my heart, but then there’s another smell under it. It’s danker, rotten, the smell of decay. He opens his eyes and they’re blank, unfocused, like he’s a million miles away.

“Simon?” I say tentatively, putting a hand on his knee.

It’s as if he’s not even there, like something has taken him over. He picks up my hand and squeezes it. “Sorry Baz,” he says. “I have to go.” It’s like someone else speaking, not Simon at all. He gets out of bed, and he’s dressed suddenly, magically, in some kind of blue jumpsuit, and his wings are unfurling, his tail is whipping out. The magic in the room is so dense I’m not sure I can move. Simon looks over at the window of our room, the plate glass hotel window, hermetically sealed. It’s gone in an instant. It doesn’t break - it just kind of vaporizes.

“Simon, “I say, desperately. “Don’t go!”

“I have to,” he says.

“You can’t just leave me!”

“I’m sorry Baz.”

“Where are you going?

“To Capheus,” he says. “To fix it.”

“You’re not right!” I say. “You're magic’s not right. There’s something different. Something evil! I can smell it.”

“I’m sorry, “he says again. “I made a mistake, but it's too late now.”

“Amoun knows Capheus!” I say desperately. “He says he’s dangerous! A dangerous man!”

“Capheus is the only one who can help me now,” says Simon. He looks at me, and for a moment I see a flash of him, the real Simon, my Simon, in his eyes. “I love you,” he says, and he climbs up onto the window ledge, spreads his wings, and flies off into the night. I race out of bed to the window, but he’s already high in the sky, his wings spread, flapping with a powerful rhythm, moving away from me fast.

As I stand in the cold window watching Simon fly away from me I feel it. That dry suck. That awful itching of the skin, the pressure behind the eyes. I look down and there he is, under the harsh yellow lights of the hotel parking lot. As usual the urge to kick him in the shins is almost overwhelming. He _is_ back! The Insidious Humdrum.

He watches Simon fly away, bounces his ball lazily a few times. Then he looks up at me and grins.

“Hello bloodsucker,” he greets me. “Those wings are the coolest! Yeah! Wish I had me some of those!”

And he’s gone, with a loud pop.


	13. Antelope Again

**Simon**

Of course I can’t fly all the way to Arizona. I fly to Heathrow.

I land in one of those carparks that’s like five miles from the airport. I pull in my wings and tail and get on the brightly lit shuttle bus. I buy a plane ticket - I’ve been saving money from my Starbucks job all winter so I have enough funds to cover the cost. My flight’s not until morning. I get through security. I don’t have any luggage. I buy a toothbrush and a razor and try to clean myself up, but I look like hell in the bathroom mirror. They’ve shaved a big chunk of my hair where I cut my head and my stitches stand out garishly against the whitish skin. I’ve still got a million little cuts and scrapes from where the window broke last night, and I’m wearing this stupid blue jumpsuit that I magicked for myself when things got really intense with Baz. I guess I must have been thinking of some kind of superhero costume when I conjured it, but in the mirror I look more like an escaped convict. I’m surprised they let me through security.

I’m not exactly playing by the rules, but the rules haven’t really treated me all that well.

The trip is shite. All night in one of those crappy airport chairs that won’t really let let you lie down. The whole flight to New York I’m squeezed in a middle seat and I can’t get comfortable. The flight from New York to Las Vegas is filled with these old blokes that are getting ready to party - to gamble and go to strip shows. There’s a group of about ten of them - it’s a high school reunion thing, they tell me. They’ve got these flat, nasal American accents - Long Island or New Jersey or something - I don’t know. Their voices, unnecessarily loud, are jangling about in my head. They’re already drinking on the flight, pretty heavily actually, and they keep trying to be friendly to me - find out why I’m going to Vegas, giving me advice about life with their boozy breath in my face. I’m wiped out and it sucks. All I want to do is sleep. All I want to do is forget the mess I’ve made of things.

At last they get tired of me and leave me alone. I close my eyes and try to sleep with my head against the cool window of the plane. I’m too hot, of course. Roasting. Baz said my magic isn’t right, doesn’t smell right, and I know what he means. It’s back, but it’s not the same. There’s a new, ranker smell to it. There’s the familiar blue white light inside me, but there’s also a tinge of red.

It all comes flooding back to me, the Humdrum, grinning at me with that satisfied smirk. Amoun, sitting in the hospital chair, disappointed. Baz looking at me with the hurt in his eyes. Baz - so hot and sexy, and then, I just couldn’t. I don’t know why. It’s like the magic is taking over. There’s no room to feel - that way.

It’s the people who love you the most who make you feel the worst when you let them down.

I lean my cheek against the window and instead of sleeping, I cry quietly, my hot tears steaming up the cool glass.

*******

 

**Baz**

I just get up and leave that hotel room. I have no idea what to do next, but there’s no point in staying there. I get in the car and onto the motorway in a kind of daze. I’m not registering where I’m going at all. Really, it’s fortunate that I don’t get into an accident.

About halfway to London my phone pings. Hoping against hope that it’s Simon, I pull off the road and look at the screen.

It’s a message from Agatha.

“Baz,” say the letters in the blue bubble. “What the fuck?”

*******

 

**Simon**

We land in Vegas just before sunset. I’m too young to rent a car (Baz’s parents signed off on our rental when we were here before) and no busses go to Antelope, Arizona. I go out to this scruffy dry piece of wasteland behind the airport and let my wings come.

It’s a beautiful sunset, one of those long dusty desert ones, all smudgy oranges and purples. Vegas is shining like a carnival below me, shimmering bright in the falling darkness with millions and millions of lights. It feels great to fly - incredible. I feel as though I’m myself again, up in the air, looking down at the gorgeous desert landscape. My wings are red and leathery, but the light from the setting sun is making them glow like gold. It’s so beautiful up here, above everything. The muscles in my back are strong and my wings pushing against the air make me feel alive and free. It’s glorious, and for few minutes, I’m happy.

I don’t know exactly how to get to Antelope, but I let my magic guide me. It isn’t even completely dark when I land outside the scruffy town. There’s an IGA, a shuttered church, a post office and of course, the Antelope Bar. The bar is the center of the town. It’s brightly lit, and I hear country music coming from it, rolling and echoing in the clear empty desert night. The stars are coming out overhead, shimmering incredibly bright in the clear air.

I don't really know what's waiting for me on the other side of that door. I just know Capheus is the only one who can help me now. I pull in my wings and tail, take a deep breath, and enter.

*******

**Baz**

I gave Agatha the key to my flat years ago. She lives in L.A. but she comes to London a couple of times a year, to shop and see her family. She likes to use my flat as a home base. I don’t mind. I’m probably closer to Agatha than anyone, except Simon.

She’s sitting on the ruined couch in the ruined sitting room when I arrive. She’s mended the broken window and made a pot of tea.

I sit down on the end of the sofa and choke out the whole story. I don’t leave anything out, not Capheus, not Jeremy, not the awful distance I’ve felt between me and Simon since last fall, not Simon flying away from me with the glaring yellow lights of Manchester in the background and breaking my heart. Not the Humdrum. Not the weird, bad smell to his magic, now that it’s back.

Agatha sits on the sofa and sips her tea with her feet tucked under her. She listens thoughtfully, without interrupting, her brown eyes intense on me, cool and intelligent. She looks gorgeous, as usual. Perfect hair and make up, though it's about 6:00 in the morning. The sun is just rising over London. She’s wearing jeans and a black jumper and she manages to look both stylish and chill at the same time.

She doesn’t try to comfort me, or touch me, even though by the end, I’m bawling. I can’t help it. If Penny were here she’d be trying to hug me, but Agatha’s always understood that touching other people makes me uncomfortable.

Agatha makes me go out and hunt, then eat something, then go to bed. While I’m sleeping she cleans the flat, sweeps up all the broken glass, vacuums and dusts, scrubs the blood stains out of the carpet. It looks okay. I thought it was ruined, but I guess I was wrong.

The smell of blood and smoke still lingers though.

It gives me a faint glimmer of hope, that the carpet can be salvaged. I love that stupid thing. It’s like a symbol, of the life Simon and me were building together.

I really don’t know if we’re going to get that life back.

I shower and shave and then we sit down and call Penny. We put her on speaker phone and tell her everything that’s happened. She wants us to come there. To Chicago. It makes sense. Simon said he was going to see Capheus - that’s in Arizona. Chicago is as good a jumping off point as anywhere.

“Listen,” Penny says before we hang off, and I hear the uncharacteristic hesitation in her voice. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“What is it?” Agatha asks.

“I’m…… I’m pregnant,” she says.

Her words hang in the air.

“Wow,” says Agatha after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“Congratulations, Bunce,” I say. If I haven’t learned anything else from my parents, I’ve learned how to react to the unexpected announcement of a pregnancy.

“Thanks, Baz,” says Penny, sounding relieved.

“Are you…. Are you feeling okay?” Agatha asks tentatively.

“Yeah,” says Penny. “I mean a little bit sick, you know, but all right.”

“Wow,” says Agatha again. Her usual poise seems to have left her.

“It doesn’t change anything,” says Penny.

“What do you mean?” Agatha asks.

“I’m still going to help get Simon back,” she says. “How soon can you get here?”

“We’ll get a flight as soon as we can,” I say. “We’ll text you when we know when we’re arriving.” And we hang off.


	14. Party in the Desert

**Simon**

The Antelope Bar is the same as it was last time I was here, except it’s nearly deserted. The dedicated drinkers sitting at the bar are gone. Capheus’ table is empty. There’s tinny country music coming from a speaker in the wall, and a fan whirring noisily in a corner. The bar man, the same one as last time is wiping a glass over and over with a dirty rag. From the way he’s looking me over I can tell he recognizes me.

“Where’s Capheus?” I ask him.

He gestures with his head. “His house,” he says gruffly. “Just up Coyote Gulch. He’s having a party.”

“Is that where everyone is?” I ask.

He nods.

“Can’t miss the house,”he says. “Big sucker at the end of the road. Want anything?” He adds, gesturing to the row of taps.

“I…….sure. I’ll have a beer,” I say. I think I need a minute to catch my breath. He pours me a glass of Budweiser, from the tap. It’s cold and it tastes great.

“Have you known Capheus long?” I ask, to make conversation.

“Since school,” he says.

“School?” I say. This doesn’t make any sense.

“Yup,” he says. He puts down one dirty glass and picks up another.

“You didn't …...go to Watford?” I say, tentatively. He doesn’t seem as if he went to Watford.

“Nah…. “ he said. “I couldn’t get in there. I’m not like you two. No power. No, we were friends in primary school, Capheus and I.”

“Then you’re…. A mage?”

He spits. “No,” he says. “I’m not. Like I said, no power. Best get on to the party.“ I hear the trace of a British accent in his voice. “He’ll be wanting to see you, Capheus will.”

I drain my beer, and dig in the pocket of my blue jumpsuit to pay him.”I haven’t got any American money,” I say. “Only pounds.”

“It’s all right,” he says. “On the house.” He gives me a crooked grin and I smile back and look into his eyes. Eyes that are strangely familiar. Eyes that look exactly like my own.

Something clicks into place in my brain. I remember the pictures from my grandmother’s house, the young boy, riding horses, holding up a trophy in a white tennis outfit. Could this grizzled old bloke be that same young boy?

“Are you…...?” I stammer.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.” He puts down his glass and rag and holds out his hand. “Bill Salisbury,” he says. “Your uncle. But every one around here calls me Sal. Nice to meet you, Simon.”

I take his hand hesitantly. I can’t stop looking into his eyes. Are they the same as her eyes, I wonder. My mother’s? The beer hits the back of my head all at once and I feel kind of woozy. I haven’t really eaten much since yesterday. They served me something gross on the airplane but I was too upset to eat it.

“Best get on to the party, Simon,” he says. “Capheus will be anxious to see you. We’ll talk later. I’ll head up there after I close. This place is dead tonight anyway.”

I stand up unsteadily and shake my head, to clear it.

“Coyote Gulch Road runs just behind this place, out into the hills” he says quietly, and I hear his British accent now, more clearly.

I’m out the swinging doors, walking up a dirt road named Coyote Gulch, toward a dark house at the top of a hill.

 

********

 

It's a spooky old house, wood framed, like it was built during pioneer times or something, when the west was wild. It stands at the top of a rise, on the edge of what I guess is Coyote Gulch. A long jagged scar in the earth. If I was a coyote, I’d definitely lurk down there.

I shiver, although the desert night is warm.

The house is softly lit from within, with a flickering, glowy light. Candlelight. There’s soft murmuring voices and music playing. Not the country music you normally hear around here. It’s a familiar tune, but I can’t place it.

I still feel kind of lightheaded from the beer and lack of food. I can taste the smoke in the back of my throat. Baz said something about my magic not smelling right and I know what he means. It’s the same smoky taste but there's a strange taste under it, like food that’s been in the fridge too long, or garbage.

Baz. For the first time in this crazy journey, I think about him, really think about him, and my gut twists with missing him. But what can I do? Fly back to England? My bank account’s nearly empty - I haven’t the funds for another plane ticket.

Capheus started this. He’s going to have to help me figure out how to fix it. There under the desert stars it all seems very clear to me. If the Humdrum is back - I’ve got to stop him.

It actually feels familiar - knowing this. This is who I really am - the person who has to stop the Humdrum and save the world. That’s been my destiny, since I was a child.

Did I know it? Somewhere in the back of my mind, is this what I really missed? More than Magick, did I miss having a purpose, a clear cut, important task to do? With the Humdrum around, I’m not just some pathetic confused kid from a children’s home who has to figure out what to do with his life. I’m the Chosen One again.

The music surges and I recognize the song. _Hotel California_ by the Eagles. I know this because of Agatha, who’s into 70’s pop.

I shake my head, take a deep breath, and climb the rickety wooden steps to the front porch. The floorboards creak under my feet. The porch is raggedy with huge old spiderwebs. It's draped with them. I see a large black spider, big as my hand, hanging by a thread. Do spiders really get that big here? It's the biggest one I’ve ever seen. It waves its hairy legs lazily, and I back away.

The knocker on the door is a brass spider, with eight brass legs. I don’t really want to touch it, but the metal is smooth and cool under my hand. I grab hold of it and knock. I don’t expect anyone can hear me, with the party going on inside, but to my surprise, the door swings open.

Inside the music is louder. It’s crowded, and the smell of sweat and weed hits my nose. There’s magic everywhere. The air is thick with it. The room is lit by candles in bags, floating through the air, the light glowing warmly through the brown paper. There are fairy lights on the walls and the ceiling, slowly rotating. Some of them are in the shape of red peppers, or cactuses, or lizards. The room is decorated eccentrically - animal heads on the walls - deer, moose, buffalo. There are old toys on shelves against the walls, metal trucks, plastic animals, rows and rows of ceramic dolls heads, staring glassily. There’s a suit of armor in a corner, the light from all the candles reflected in the shiny metal, glowing and flickering. There's a rhinoceros head over the stone fireplace - I wonder if it’s real. Its horn is draped with strings of Mardi Gras beads. While I’m staring at it, it winks its glass eye at me, lazily.

There’s a DJ in the corner. He switches the music to something faster and people get up to dance in the middle of the room. A disco ball hanging from the ceiling starts rotating, adding to the shimmery effect of the lights. Everyone is dressed for a costume party. I don’t see Capheus anywhere, but there are hippies, superheroes, princesses and vampires. A huge bloke in the middle of the dance floor, naked except for a pair of tight black shorts and an elephant mask. He’s dancing hard, shining with sweat, the fat on his belly bouncing as he jumps and swirls, the elephant’s trunk swinging wildly as he moves his head. A tiny woman dressed as an insect of some kind, with a shimmering beaded headdress and large gossamer wings, like a dragonfly’s that stick out behind her, vibrating rapidly. There’s a bloke in a Shaman mask with a huge strap on that has a leering leprechaun face at the end. A woman, in biker leathers,dancing furiously, her face shining with sweat and rainbow dildo strapped to her crotch.

A woman in a long black dress with long black hair is passing around a tray filled with those triangle stemmy glasses filled with a pink bubbly liquid. I hear ice tinkling as she moves. There’s fire, flickering over her dress, orange flames, licking the black fabric.

“Hello, handsome,” she greets me. Her lips are a dark, berry red. She touches my nose with a long, white finger and laughs. Her nails are painted black. She hands me a glass, and turns back into the crowd. My mouth is dry, parched, and I take a sip, though I know I probably shouldn’t. It’s some kind of alcohol -sweet and fruity. It hits my dry throat and it’s delicious - the best thing I ever tasted. I finish it off in a few deep swallows.

I make my way through the crowd with my empty glass in my hand. The dance floor is really heating up, people are moving fast, flinging arms and legs, eyes closed in ecstasy. Trays of food are circulating through the air and suddenly I realize how hungry I am. I grab a sandwich off a tray, and it’s delicious. Someone hands me a joint and I take a deep hit.

There’s two blokes in a corner, kissing. They’re both really good looking. They have matching blond hair, buzz cut short. One of them is wearing pale green shorts and a muscle shirt. I guess his costume is a surfer. The other one is in a black, skin tight bodysuit that shows off every muscle. They're both built. They’re really going at it, and I can’t help staring. I know it’s kind of for show, but it’s really sexy, and I feel my stomach do a little wriggle, right below my belly button. Even though I’m gay I haven’t seen -that sort of thing - very often. Baz and I don’t go to bars. Most of our friends are straight.

The woman with the long black hair and the fire dress is back. She hands me another glass of champagne. Her eyes follow mine, to the corner, where the two blokes are going at it.

“Sexy,” she says, and smiles at me and I feel my face grow hot. The weed and the champagne hit me at the same time and the room kind of lurches. The music is suddenly louder, the lights are brighter and more mesmerizing. I have to find Capheus, somehow, before I lose it completely.

“Capheus,” I say to the woman still standing beside me. “Where’s Capheus?”

Her dark red lips break into a smile. They’re the same color Baz’s get after he feeds, and I suddenly notice the paleness of her skin. I look at her white teeth. Her fangs aren’t out. Not now.

“He’s in the kitchen, honey,” she says, in a lilting western twang. She gestures to the other side of the room, where I see a doorway to a dark hall through the mill of dancing people. “Playing poker. I think he’s expecting you, though.”

I thread my way through the increasingly crowded dance floor. The music has switched to some kind of metallic pop and it’s booming in my ears. I don’t like the feel of all these sweaty people bumping into me, in their outlandish costumes. Someone hands me another spliff and I take a hit, to be polite, then wish I hadn’t. At last, the room spinning, I get through to the other side, to the hallway. It's dark - creepy actually, but I see a light shining under the a door at the far end.

I go down the hall. For some reason, I’m scared. I feel like those dark walls are closing in on me. I can see that there are pictures, frames hung on the wall but its too dark to see what they show. I’m afraid something is going to jump out at me. I hesitate at every shadow, then make myself go on. I’m swallowing hard, my palms are sweaty, my breathing short and gaspy. There's a spindly old fashioned table against the wall, and I trip over it in the dark, knocking over a lamp with a loud clatter.

At last I get to the kitchen door and push it open. In the kitchen the overhead light is bright, overwhelmingly bright, after the dark flickery lighting of the rest of the house. It’s so harsh it makes me wince, and it makes me kind of nauseous. I catch a whiff of that rank garbage-like smell of my new magic, and swallow hard.

Capheus is seated at the round wooden kitchen table, cluttered with bottles and glasses. There’s a group of about seven people in mismatched chairs grouped around. They're smoking, the air is thick with it, and they’re playing cards. They’re not using a regular deck, either. I recognize the images on the cards laid out on the table. Tarot cards. The atmosphere is silent, intense. The sounds of the cards being shuffled and the chips clicking against each other are loud. I hear a loud ticking in the quiet room and glance up. There’s a Felix the cat clock over the stove, its plastic tail twitching back and forth with every second, it’s plastic eyes roving about the room. It fixes them on me and stares.

Capheus looks up at me with his cold blue eyes. From the look in them I realize he never was my friend. He’s wearing his white suit and a cowboy hat on his head. “Hello Simon, “ he says to me.

I swallow back my nausea. “I have to talk to you,” I say. My voice sounds loud in the unnaturally quiet room.

He smiles at me, then, a cold smile , and his teeth are white and gleaming and perfect. “Of course you do,” he says. “I can't just leave the table, though. Not quite yet. I’m too far in here. It wouldn’t be sportsmanlike.”

I stand and stare at him. I feel my magic coming to my skin, and I can’t pull it back. His pale eyes meet mine, and I can’t read them at all.

“Sit down, Simon,” he says. “I’ll deal you in.”

“I….er….” The woman in the black fire dress is at my elbow again, and she hands me another glass of champagne with long white fingers. My mouth is dry, and I gulp at it. “Play, Simon,” she says, and she takes my hand and leads me over to the table. I sit down heavily in the one remaining chair.

“Ante up, Simon," says Capheus. I reach in my pocket for my wallet. I open it. It’s empty, though I’m sure I had some money in there earlier in the evening.

“I haven’t any money,” I say, hoarsely. Everyone in the room is staring at me.

“That’s all right Simon, “ says Capheus. He puts his hand inside the jacket of his white suit and pulls out a small vial of dark red liquid. My blood, from the blood oath I took months ago. He sets it on the table, amid the jumble of chips. “You’ve already paid.”

 

********

 

**Baz**

I call work, and explain there’s a family emergency. I’m going to need a week, maybe two. They know Daphne’s sick - let them think its related to that. Nobody questions me, though I know this looks really bad.

I pack a few things, while Agatha gets on her laptop and reserves our flight. My stomach is a twisted knot of worry over Simon, and it’s hard to concentrate. I feel like I’m moving through molasses.

There’s the cab ride, check in, security. Agatha’s managing everything, I’m just kind of numbly following along. Once we’re through the metal detectors and the scanners we have a couple of hours to kill. Our flight leaves at 10:00 PM. Agatha guides me over to the airport bar, and orders me a drink.

I stare at it glumly.

“Buck up Baz,” she says. “We’re dealing with it. We’re going to get him back.”

I shake my head. I’m fighting back tears.

“What is it?” she asks quietly.

“It’s just…….why’d he fly away like that? How could he just…..leave me?”

She takes my hand in her small soft paw and squeezes it. “It’s going to be all right,” she says, and though I don’t believe her, I’m glad she’s here with me.


	15. Tarot Card Poker

**Simon**

They’re playing five card stud.

“Give Simon his chips, Sal,” Capheus says quietly, when I sit down.

I look over at the bloke to the right of Capheus, who’s being the banker. It’s the man from the bar, my uncle. Bill Salisbury. Sal they call him. He winks at me and slides a stack of chips over to me.

I look around the table.

There’s a guy in sheep's head mask, huge horns curling around his face. A ram. A woman dressed up as a crab. Another woman, dressed as Justice, with a set of scales. Someone in a fish head mask, eyes bugging, mouth gaping. Two blokes, dressed as twins. I can’t tell one from the other. Maybe they really _are_ twins. The room isn't exactly standing still and it's hard to tell.

Someone hands me a tumbler full of dark amber liquid and I take a sip. It’s some kind of whiskey, I guess. I wince, and swallow. It feels kind of steadying, though it doesn’t really make my stomach feel any better.

Capheus starts to deal the cards. They make little slapping sounds as they hit the table.

“The Fool is wild,” he says quietly. “The Tower is trump.”

He goes round the table, slapping down cards in front of each player, one face up, one face down.

I know a little bit about Tarot, because Penny likes it. When she didn’t have much luck with her crystal ball she started reading cards. So I know the basics. I know the most interesting cards, and what they mean, and how you’re supposed to forget about all of that and just let the images speak to you.

I look at my cards. The Five of Swords is staring up at me. The betrayer. He’s just defeated his enemies and he’s making off with their weapons. I peek at my upside down card. It's the Three of Swords. Three swords piercing a bright red heart. The heartbreak card.

Fantastic.

But at least I have a chance at either a flush or a straight. Which, given the fact that I’m playing for my blood is not a bad thing.

I look about the table. The fish bloke or woman has the high hand - the Wheel of Fortune. He or she pushes five chips into the center.

Part of playing poker is you’re supposed to read the expressions on the faces of the other players, to figure out if they’re bluffing or whatever. The fact that the people at this table are all in costumes or heavily made up definitely puts me at a disadvantage.

But I have a feeling the cards are stacked against me anyway.

I take a sip of the whiskey, for courage and meet the bet. Capheus glances at me as I do, his face unreadable. Uncle Bill looks over at me and gives me a thumbs up of encouragement.

Capheus deals another round of cards.

I get the Two of Swords. The image on the card is of a blindfolded woman seated, holding two crossed swords. The meaning of the card is pretty clear. Stalemate, indecision, difficult choices. These cards seem extremely ominous to me, but at least I’ve still got a chance. A chance at a straight flush, which is one of the strongest hands you can have in poker. Only a royal flush counts more.

 I look over at Capheus’ cards. He’s showing the King and the Knight of Wands. I wonder if he has a chance at a royal flush. That’s one of the only hands that could beat me.

Capheus himself is completely poker faced. He’s got the high hand, so he leads the betting. He pushes five chips into the middle . The betting goes around. One of the twins folds. The other one meets Capheus’ bet, and raises it by two. I look at his cards. Two aces. A strong hand, depending on what his hidden card shows.

Fishface folds, and Justice. The crab woman looks uncertain, but she pushes seven chips into the pot. I do the same. We all watch Capheus. He meets the raise, pushing two chips into the center with his long white pointer finger. He deals another round.

I get the Ten of Swords. The guy lying face down with ten swords through his back. One of the worst cards in the deck. Failure, defeat. I can’t see his face, but if I could, I bet it would look like mine.

My chance at a straight flush is gone, but I could still get a flush. Capheus dealt himself the Queen of Wands. Her beautiful cape is decorated with lions and fire breathing salamanders. Capheus is still in the running for a royal flush.

I take a sip of the whiskey, which makes the room lurch. My nausea is getting worse. I may have to run for the bog, but I don’t know what would happen if I did. These people would probably kill me if I walked away from a round of poker.

We bet. Capheus places ten chips and I meet him. I figure I have a better chance at getting another sword than he has at getting the Page or the Ace of Wands, which are the only cards that will make his hand worth anything. Otherwise he loses. Everyone else folds. It’s down to him and me, then. Figures.

The last card is face down. I get the Tower. Fuck. I’ve lost my chance at a straight. But the Tower is trump, so unless Capheus completes his straight, or gets a pair, I win. I look at his eyes, uncertain what to do. No one has explained to me what’s going to happen if I lose, but I know it's going to be bad. His eyes, completely unreadable, are almost white. He takes a long, hairless finger and slides a single chip into the center.

Is he going conservative because he’s going to lose? I hate poker - the uncertainty of it. I’ve never seen the fun in it, honestly. I have to make a decision. It would be a lot easier if the room wasn’t spinning.

I decide to bluff. What the fuck. If it works, I never have to show my hand, and maybe I'll have a chance to get the fuck out of this place. I eyeball the vial of my blood, shining darkly in front of Sal. I push 10 chips into the center, praying I’m making the right move.

Capheus meets my bet, never taking his pale eyes off mine. We both show our hands at the same time. He’d gotten the Fool in the first round. His final card is the Two of Pentacles. The card of gamblers, and chance takers, the bloke in a jester costume juggling two coins. Capheus’ chance for a royal flush is ruined, but it doesn’t matter. The Fool is wild, so it’s an automatic pair. All I have is the Tower, which can’t beat a pair.

I watch as Capheus reaches across the table and grasps the vial of my blood. Slowly he uncorks it, and swallows the whole thing down.

Watching him do it wrings my gut. “I’m going to be sick!” I gasp. I put my hand to my mouth and stumble out of my chair. I run for the door. Everything is spinning. The floor is wobbling unpleasantly, like I’m on a ship or something. All the people in their weird costumes are grabbing at me, but my magic comes, shimmering on my skin, my dragon wings and tail popping out. I don’t think they are expecting that, because they all hang back a bit. I’m almost to the door, to fresh air, and freedom, and all I can think is that I have to get back to Baz. I want him so badly, all at once, with the deepest part of me, the little kid part, that only ever wanted someone to love and care for me, even though no one ever did, except him. I’ll have to fly back to England, somehow, I think desperately. Back to Baz, and safety. We’ll start over trying to figure this out, we’ll come up with something, somehow, together.

Then I feel something snaking around my ankles, unbalancing me, and with a sickening lurch I’m upside down, literally hanging from the ceiling. Capheus is standing below me, holding out his hands, and grey sticky ropes are spinning from his palms, spiderlike. They’re wrapping around my butt, my belly, my chest, tighter and tighter. I feel the contents of my stomach rising and then I’m puking spectacularly, a truly epic hurl. The rancid acidy taste of it is burning my throat, coming out my nose and spewing the people below, the cards, the chips the glasses with brown, putrid vomit. Capheus’ white suit is splashed with a huge brown, feculent smear. It's in his hair, and the smell is nasty, that rotten garbage smell overwhelming the green burnt smell of my own magic. There are tears in my eyes, blurring my vision. All the blood is rushing to my head and the room lurches one more time and I don’t know anything more.

********

**Baz**

Penny and Micah’s flat in Chicago is on the twenty sixth floor of a modern high rise. We gather in their sitting room which has a sweeping view of Lake Michigan. We eat pizza out of take away boxes and drink beer. Penny has a big white board (of course she does) which she sets up in a corner of the room and I have to say, it reassures me, even though I’m shaky with lack of sleep and with nerves. But with Penny on my side and a white board to strategize with I can't help feeling a little bit optimistic. We’ve been here before, and we’ve come out all right.

It took Agatha and me forever to get here from London. I hunted in the park before we left but I’ve no idea where I’m going to find game in this urban forest of metal and steel. I suppose there are rats, somewhere, down by the waterfront. There are always rats.

I keep texting Simon, but - nothing. Penny and Agatha are doing the same. Maybe his phone died.

Penny, fierce and determined as ever, ignores the food and the beer. She’s at the white board, dividing it into columns. _**Things We Know. Things We Don’t Know. Things To Do.**_ Our usual strategy.

Thank Merlin and Morgana we have a usual strategy.

Once she gets the columns set up she pushes her glasses up on her nose and turns to me, chewing on the end of the dry erase marker. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing grey trackie bottoms with a hole in the knee and a faded shirt that says _I Love NY._

“All right Baz,” she says. “What do we know?”

“Capheus,” I say. It comes out sounding like a curse. Penny turns and writes Capheus on the board in her tight blocky print.

“What about Capheus?” she says.

“He put Simon up to this,” I say.

“Up to what exactly?” Penny asks quietly.

So I explain about what I saw, that night in the moonlight. Simon, chanting that strange spell, in a foreign language. The silver teapot. The blue smoke. Simon, sucking it in, like an addict.

“I think….." I say, “I think that’s what he’s been up to since last summer. Going to antiques shops. Finding these objects. Somehow getting the magic out of them.”

 _Simon is getting magic from charmed objects_ writes Penny on the board, and then next to it, in the _**Things We Don’t Know** _ column, she writes _HOW????_ in larger blocky letters.

“I should have put a stop to it then,” I say miserably. “If I had…..maybe none of the rest of this would have happened.”

“No time for regrets, Basilton,” says Penny briskly. “What else?” Agatha, sitting beside me, takes my hand and gives it a quick squeeze.

“Capheus is an evil git,” I say, and Penny dutifully writes that down.

“Where is he?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, and that question goes into the _**Things We Don’t Know**_ column.

“He lives somewhere near Wire Canyon in Arizona,” I say. “That’s where we were when Simon first made contact with him.”

Penny writes all this down in the _**Things We Know**_ column.

“What’s he like?” Micah asks quietly.

I look over at Micah. I don’t know him well, but Penny trusts him, obviously, so I guess I’m going to have to as well. I don’t have much choice really. I need Penny. If anyone can help me figure out how to find Simon, she can. If Micah is part of the package now, I’m going to have to play along.

“He’s…...old,” I say. “He was friends with Simon’s parents at school. The Mage was his best mate,” I say looking over at Penny.

“Crowley,” she says softly. “Fuck a nine toed troll.”

“Amoun knows him,” I say. “He says he’s not to be trusted, And….” I close my eyes, thinking back to that night in the Lucky LIzard. “He’s a gambler. A poker player. A good one apparently,” I add, remembering him cashing in his chips.

Suddenly, Penny puts her hand to her mouth and runs for the bog and we hear her throwing up through the closed door. Agatha looks truly horrified. Micah shrugs and looks at the floor, embarrassed. “That’s the way it's been around here lately,” he says quietly.

Agatha looks over at me, and I shrug as well. “Daphne was always puking her first few months,” I say, remembering.

Agatha closes her eyes. “I am never, ever, having children,” she says fervently.

We hear the toilet flushing, water running and then Penny is back.

“Sorry,“ she says, picking up the dry erase marker and turning back to the board. “What else?”

********

After about an hour we have a long list of things we know and a longer list of things we don’t know. The things to do list is pathetically short.

Micah has a big expensive looking silver laptop and he pulls up the map of Wire Canyon and the surrounding countryside on it. I peer over his shoulder at the screen. He puts it on satellite and focusses down until we can see Wire Canyon, like a gash running through the the dry scrubby countryside. I can see the big flat looking mesas, the seedy motel we stayed in, the shitty restaurant where we ate. No clue as to where Capheus might be, or where Simon might have gone to look for him.

“Give me your phone,” says Micah, holding out his hand.

“My phone?” I ask, taken aback.

“Simon’s number,” he says, impatiently, as if I’m being stupid. Micah’s getting a PhD in computers.

“If his battery hasn’t died we can hack in and get his coordinates on his GPS,” explains Micah.

“You can do that?” I ask.

He shrugs then flashes me a grin. It's one of the only times I’ve seen him smile. “Yeah,” he says.

I hand him my phone, and he starts punching buttons furiously.

It only takes him about five minutes. “Got it!” he says, and hands me back my phone.

There’s a map on the screen. It’s of Arizona, the same area we were staying in when we hiked Wire Canyon. The tiny town of Antelope, Arizona is in the center and a yellow light is flashing steadily from the middle of it.

********

It's a twenty four hour drive to Antelope, Arizona from Chicago

We take an Uber up to Micah’s parents on the North Shore and borrow one of their vehicles - it's a big black Nissan SUV. The girls curl up together in the back seat and I sit in the passenger seat while Micah drives. It's about midnight. We leave the bright lights of Chicago behind us and head out into the wintery darkness. After about an hour we’re surrounded by cornfields, endless frozen stalks of corn stubble on either side. It feels as if the city of Chicago is a million miles away.

“Thanks for helping me,” I say to Micah.

“No problem,” Micah says, and drives on.

I don’t know why he’s helping us. I guess because he’s married to Penny, and Penny is a part of us. I wonder if he knew what he was getting into when he married her. I suppose he did. You can’t fall in love with someone like Penny and not expect life to be filled with a few surprises.

I’ve barely slept in the past three days. It's been one continuous adrenaline rush, fueled by the tight knot of fear and anxiety over Simon. But now there’s nothing to do but sit, until it’s my turn to drive. I rest my head against the window, and close my eyes and lulled by the soft swooshing of the wheels on the road, I sleep.


	16. The Humdrum and the Dirigible

**Simon**

I come to in the passenger seat of Capheus’ truck. It's a large, rusting affair and smells of old cigarettes. We’re rattling down the road, the headlights making a tunnel of glare in the dark night. My head is killing me. I moan, and try to put my hand to my head but I can’t. My wrists and ankles are still bound with the sticky, spiderwebby ropes.

Capheus is driving, but he glances over at me with his creepy pale eyes when he hears me groan. Then he goes back to staring straight ahead, at the dark ribbon of highway unfolding in front of us. His hands are gripping the steering wheel, hard. I notice a large silver ring on his finger in the shape of a spider. Was he wearing that before? I can’t remember.

“Sorry about all that back there,” he says.

“Fuck off,” I respond, and I smell my magick, thick and dense around us. It crackles over the controls of the car, across the greasy glass of the windshield. The radio suddenly sparks and comes to life, playing loud, staticky country music. A smile crosses Capheus’ face and he reaches out a pale hand to switch it off.

“It worked,” he says quietly. “Your magic. It’s back.”

“Fuck off,” I say again. I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Simon,” he says. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Truly I didn’t. I just needed to get control of the situation. I wasn’t expecting you. And then, you came marching in, with all that power coming off of you. Well, there were some people at that party - people who - I have enemies Simon. I hate to admit it but it's true. Once they noticed you and your power, well, you may not have realized it, but, you made a splash. I needed to take control, show some authority. It was mostly for effect, Simon. Some of the people at that party….” He shudders. “You don’t want to show any weakness around them.”

I twist my head away from him and look out the window. Stupidly, I start to cry. It’s just like it was with my dad, I think. The Mage. I thought he cared about me. I thought I could trust him, but I couldn’t. This feels like the same thing all over again. I liked Capheus, I thought he was on my side. I went running to him, when things went wrong, just like I was still a little kid. And now, I can’t believe a word he says.

“It will be easier when we get to Wire Canyon,” he says. “Then we can unloose your bonds and complete the spell.”

“Complete the spell?” I ask.

“Yes. To bring back your full power.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I ask.

Capheus just stares at the road and drives on in silence.

********

When there’s a loud pop in the back of the truck I’m not really surprised. _“Figures,”_ I think to myself. _“He’d be able to find me here, halfway around the world, in the middle of nowhere.”_ I feel the dry suck of him. I hear a slurping noise and I twist my head around to look at him. The Insidious Humdrum is sitting in the back seat of the truck cab. He’s eating a large ice lolly, sucking on it obscenely, tonguing it, like he’s giving it a blow job.

“You’re disgusting,” I tell him.

“What’s wrong big bro?” the Humdrum says, grinning lewdly. “I thought you went in for that sort of thing.”

I turn away from him with revulsion.

“You could have warned me,” I say to Capheus under my breath.

“Warned you about what, Simon?” asks Capheus.

“Warned me that _he_ might show up.”

“Well, I’m a bit surprised myself,” he whispers.

“I can _hear_ you,” says the Humdrum in a singsong voice from the back seat. He takes another loud slurp of his ice lolly and starts kicking his feet against the back of my seat - like a little kid.

“What are we going to do?” I say to Capheus.

“Isn’t anything you can do, big bro,” says the Humdrum saucily. “I’m back and I’m not going away again. Not unless I take you with me next time.”

A chill runs down my spine as Capheus puts on his blinker and turns the truck off down the dirt road leading to Wire Canyon.

“Maybe,” Capheus says quietly, “Maybe we can use him to our advantage."

“No,” I say. “We can’t. What are you talking about? He’s evil.”

“I’m your nemesis,” puts in the Humdrum, cheerfully.

The truck is bumping and lurching over the rough road. I remember driving down this way before, on holiday with Baz. If he were here now, we could banish the Humdrum together. We’ve done it before. Without him, I don’t have any way to focus my power.

I miss Baz. I wish he was here beside me. I know he must be angry, with good reason. I wonder if he’ll ever forgive me.

I feel the Humdrum behind me, pulling at every cell in my body with his power field. It feels like he’s pulling my eyeballs right through the back of my head, like my teeth are going to go loose in their sockets and start boring into my skull. My skin feels all itchy and I’ve got this dry, irritated feeling in the back of my throat.

“When’re we getting there?” whines the Humdrum, kicking the back of my seat again. “I’m bored.”

The truck goes over a huge bump and I hit my head on the roof of the cab.

“Fuck!” I yell, and suddenly I’m mad. I can’t stand that little thug, sitting back there, whining. Like the worst part of me. I turn around. He gives me an evil grin.

“What’s bugging you, big bro?”

“You are,” I say. I feel my power rising with my emotions, so strong it almost feels as if my head is about to explode. I try to concentrate, to focus all of that power. I need a spell, but of course I’m blanking. I think of Penny suddenly, of what she would do in this situation, and then it comes to me.

 _ **“Out damned spot!”** _ I shout. My words come out loud, loud as an explosion.There’s a huge bang, the cab fills with smoke and all the windows blow out of the car. The Humdrum puts his fingers in his ears and wriggles them. His face is blackened with smoke, and he sticks out his tongue at me.

“I’ll be back, big bro!” he says with a grin and he disappears with a loud pop.

Capheus is sitting in the driver seat, staring at me. His pale eyes look even paler in his soot stained face.

“Simon,” he says. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m not sorry,” I say. The whole truck is smoking, and the doors have kind of a twisty look, as if they’ve partly melted.

He shakes his head and turns the key in the ignition.The engine sputters and a single orange flame shoots out from under the hood, then it’s silent.

“We’d best walk,” says Capheus.

********

**Baz**

We arrive in the dusty dreary town of Ogallala, Nebraska at about eight in the morning. We’ve been driving for about twelve hours, but we’re not really making very good time. Everyone is stiff and grumpy from the car. We stop at a truck stop to get some food and petrol. It’s warmer here, and the air is thick with the smell of diesel fumes. Micah is at the pump, filling up. Penny and Agatha are in the restaurant, getting some food. I look about, uneasily. I have to hunt.

Problem is, it’s all open prairie. Scruffy grass and hard dry earth. Not a good environment for hunting. I skulk behind the ugly cement block building that houses the truck stop.

Back behind the building, it’s better. The sky is very clear, and very blue, with high white fluffy clouds, and there’s a breeze, blowing away the noxious diesel fumes of the idling trucks. It wasn’t that great for me, shut up in a car all night with all those people. I’m not really used to being in such close proximity with other people for that long a time.

There are rats, scrabbling about in the dry grass and windblown trash, and I’m thirsty enough that my fangs pop at the sound of them. The rats are always there, the thirst is always there.

I wonder if now this ache in my chest, the missing Simon ache, will always be there as well.

********

 

When I get back to the car Penny and Agatha have returned from the restaurant with cups of coffee and breakfast burritos wrapped in foil. The burritos are pretty nasty. Penny barely touches hers, and she looks very pale. Probably because she’s not concentrating on the food, she’s the one who notices the dirigible first.

She stands up, from the picnic table where we’re eating and shades her eyes. At first it’s a silver speck, glinting in the bright prairie sunshine, but it gets bigger and bigger until there’s no question what it is. It’s a large old fashioned dirigible and it comes closer and closer until it’s hovering right above us. A hatch slides open and Amoun’s face is looking down at us, smiling and warm. A silvery ladder descends and hangs just within our reach. Micah hesitates but the rest of us have done this before. I reach for the ladder and start climbing up.

“Welcome,” Amoun says as we enter the warmly lit space of the cabin. It’s all darkly polished wood and oriental rugs. There’s a chandelier above us and a bar against the far wall, gleaming with bottles. “Hurry,” he says. “We haven’t much time.”


	17. Wire Canyon

**Simon**

It’s a long walk to Wire Canyon. The road is rough and rocky, cutting through these weird twisting  rock formations. The moon has risen in the east, luckily, so we can sort of see.

Capheus reties my bonds, first cutting through them with his wand and then spinning more spider web ropes. My ankles now are tied together like a prisoner’s shackles. I can walk, but I can’t run. My right wrist is firmly tied to his left one.

“Sorry about all this Simon,” he says as he works. ”Just a precaution.”

I spit in his face. He takes his right hand and wipes the spittle out of his eyes. He starts walking silently over the barren moonlit landscape, pulling me with him. It’s so stark and lonely, it feels like we’re on another planet.

I suppose I could fight, but I don’t think I’d win. Those spider web bonds are strong - stronger than ordinary ropes. I keep experimenting with my magic, trying to use it to weaken them, or untie them, but - nothing. I don’t know if that’s because Capheus drank my blood - I don’t know much about blood magic. Maybe he’s just got some kind of weird, spiderman magic that resists my own. Penny might know, or Baz. As usual, my lack of understanding of the magical world leaves me at a disadvantage.

We trudge on in silence, Capheus leading me by the wrist.The rocks in the moonlight cast weird shadows. They almost look alive. We pass rocks that look like strange hulking beasts, like huge birds, like weird  giant men with twisted grins and leering eyes.

We go on and on, through that silent, eerie landscape, and neither of us says a word.

 

********

 

At last we get to the trailhead to Wire Canyon. We walk past the billboard with maps and a warning in bold letters **No Potable water. Carry adequate water onto the trail.** I suddenly feel thirsty.

As the path starts to narrow and lower toward the canyon, we pass a rock that looks like a large lizard, complete with an elaborate frill. He looks at me, with his stony eye, and blinks lazily. Beyond him is a rock that looks like an ugly ogre type guy. He grins at me, as I pass him, and I see he’s missing several teeth. The rock that looks like an eagle rustles its stone feathers as we walk by.

We keep walking and the path we’re on gets narrower and narrower as we descend until the rocks close in on either side and we’re walking through a gap that’s only wide enough for one person. Capheus pushes me ahead of him, down the sandy trail, his wrist still bound to mine.

I’m getting closer and closer to panic as we go down into into the narrow passage The walls are pressing in around me and I feel claustrophobic, trapped. This is a place of power. That’s obvious. I felt it the last time I was here and it’s even stronger this time.

The magic is rising in me again, like it did earlier when I banished the Humdrum in the car. I can feel the smoke, gathering in the back of my throat. I’m afraid of what would happen if I went off in this narrow space, surrounded by tons and tons of rock. We’d probably be buried alive. I look up at the tall walls of rock towering above us on either side, so close together that in places Capheus, who has kind of a paunchy belly, can barely squeeze through. I look up and see the bright pinpoints of the stars, high, high above, in the narrow gap between the walls of rock.

Just when I feel like I can’t go on any more without losing it we come to the end of the trail. It widens out into a ledge and then drops twenty feet to the canyon below. Capheus and I stand on the ledge, looking out at the open space in front of us, a wide, stony cavern, with the narrow slice of stars shining through, high above where the rock walls come together. This is as far as Baz and I got, when we were here before. This is where we turned back.

Capheus stands beside me on the ledge, breathing heavily. I wonder if I just twisted suddenly, if if could heave him off the ledge somehow. Only problem with that idea is that he’d take me with him. But if I could use my magic to cushion my fall…..or break the ropes that are holding me……. I feel my wings, ready to pop out, and I know my power’s really strong right now - I can feel it, pulsing all through me. It’s squeezing my insides, beating in my brain, making my blood feel hot, like it’s about to boil. I’ve got to do something or I’m just going to go off. Capheus looks over at me suddenly, as if he’s just noticed it. He’s still trying to catch his breath.

I make my mind up all at once. It’s worth a chance. I heave to one side suddenly, off balancing him, and twist my shackled feet under him, tripping him. I let my power come, the heat inside me rising to my skin, crackling like flames. Thank Merlin and Morgana I feel the bonds that are tying me to Capheus breaking, bursting into hot fire and vanishing. The heat singes the skin around my wrists and ankles, but I’m so focussed on what’s happening, I barely notice it. Capheus staggers, and nearly falls, but then he catches himself and before I can get away he grabs for me. He’s got me in an iron grip, right at the edge of the twenty foot drop, and we’re fighting and scrabbling, clawing, throwing our weight against each other. His spider ring catches at the skin under my cheek, cutting my face, and I’m bleeding over both of us. I can’t get in a good punch. I’m strong and young but he’s big and a scrappy fighter. I get my hands around his throat but it’s weird, my hands are kind of slipping off of him, like he’s greased or something and he laughs, and heaves me, right over so my head is hanging over the ledge of rock. His full weight is on me, his sour boozy breath is in my face and his hands are around my neck.

“You can’t hurt me Simon,” he pants as he chokes me. “I drank your blood, remember?” His face is red and his pale eyes are bugging out of his head. “Won it fair and square, too.”

With an enormous effort, I heave him off me and over the edge. He grabs for me and the two of us go tumbling off the ledge together, into the canyon below. My wings are popping. Capheus still has me in his grasp and he’s pulling me down. It’s all happening too fast. I can’t untangle my wings and get them to work and the ground is coming up at us. Just before we hit the bottom of the canyon we pull up short. Capheus has shot out a silver rope somehow, and we’re dangling, above the ground, for all the world like a spider with its prey.

Capheus is binding me again, flinging out rope after silvery rope from his palms while we hang in the air, entwining my whole body tightly so I can hardly breathe, my wings twisted flat against my back at a funny angle. My head is spinning and I can’t focus my power to break free. Once I’m properly trussed Capheus spins out more thread and lowers us the rest of the way to the ground.

Lying  on the sandy floor of the cavern I see that there’s another man, lurking in a stony passageway that leads to the wide open space. It’s the barman from the Antelope Bar. My Uncle. Sal.

He’s holding a big silvery mirror and I can see right away that it’s pulsing with magic. This is it. The object that  Capheus emailed me about weeks ago. The one that, as he put it, carries a punch. My gut twists when I see it. I’m afraid. I wanted all that power, wanted it desperately, but that was before I brought back the Humdrum. Now I’m afraid of it.

But it doesn’t matter what I want anymore.

I watch Capheus as he goes over and takes the mirror from my Uncle Sal. Capheus is smiling. I can tell he’s excited.

“Now Simon,” he says. “Are you going to cooperate?”

I hate that word. They always used to use it on me in care, when I was little. “Simon,” the matrons would say to me  in exasperation. “Why can’t you just cooperate?”

I’m not going to cooperate with Capheus. That’s for sure. I turn my head away from him and close my eyes.

“Simon,” Capheus says, and his voice is measured, as if he’s talking to a little kid, but I can hear the eagerness behind his words. “You know what to do. Just say the incantation and the spell will be complete.”

I shut my eyes tighter, try to focus my power again.

“Don’t you want it, Simon?“ Capheus says, his voice a greedy whisper. ”All that power? You’ll be limitless. You’ll be nuclear. You want it, Simon. You know you do.”

I need a spell, a spell to vanquish him.

“Your father meant for you to have it Simon,” he says, the excitement growing in his voice. “You were designed for it. You were born to it. I know, Simon, I was there, there when he figured out how to make it all work. And now he’s gone, it’s up to me, to carry it out.”

Capheus grabs me and he’s got a knife at my throat. “Say it, Simon,” he says, and I feel the sharp blade digging into my neck. It hurts, and I can’t focus at all.

“Just say it,” Capheus spits out, breathing hard. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

I look over at the mirror. It’s shimmering with power, pulsing with it. Weird rainbows of color are undulating over the surface, like oil in a puddle, and the glass has this grey smoky look. It’s the magic wanting to get out. A part of me is tempted by it, I have to admit, but I know it would be a mistake to do what Capheus wants. I feel the knife dig in deeper and a drop of my blood drips onto the sandy ground and glistens there, like a ruby

“Caph,” I hear Sal’s voice, quiet and intense. “Go easy on him. He’s Lucy’s kid.”

I feel Capheus loosening his grip on me, and a second later the knife eases from my throat and he throws me to the ground, next to the mirror. Maybe if I butt my head hard against it I can break it.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll say the incantation myself. It won’t work as well, but it’ll do.”

I hear his voice, chanting hoarsely, the familiar words I know so well. The words that have been my lifeline, all these months, the words I’ve lived to say. Except now they fill me with dread. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and I’m afraid.

The grey glass of the mirror is swirling now, like mist. The glass is vaporizing, changing into blue smoke and drifting towards me. Familiar blue smoke, filled with  magic. I hold my breath but it doesn’t matter. The magic already inside me is reaching out, yearning to join with it, to take it in, and before I can stop myself I’m breathing, breathing deeply and the magic is entering me, swirling and joining with the magic already inside me, smokey and rancid at the same time, green wood burning and under it that strange rotten smell and the power is filling me and Capheus is laughing softly and Sal is watching with wide, wide eyes.

My power is alive, all over me, a hot roaring inferno. The ropes can’t hold me.They burn off of me all at once, and I stand, and look Capheus straight in the eye, my wings gently flapping. I think maybe I’ll overpower him at last. In this moment, I don’t feel as if anything can stop me.

But  something’s happening to me, something weird. The magic that’s crackling all over me is hardening, transforming my skin to shiny red scales and my vision is changing, becoming weirdly kaleidoscopic. I feel my face morphing, my nose elongating into a snout, my teeth becoming sharp and jagged, my ears tall and pointed. I feel the fire rising in my gut, the heat, pouring out my throat. I puff out a breath of air and a jet of flame shoots out of my mouth and hits the rock wall of the cavern, leaving  a black scorch mark. I look down at my hands and they have turned to dragon’s claws, covered with shimmering golden red scales, with long sharp talons coming out the ends of my fingers. I feel my feet on the dry ground, tough pads with long nails that scrabble at the sand as I leap into the air.

I flap my wings, and I’m soaring into the wide open space of the cavern. Capheus laughs as he watches me. With a roar of fury I breath at him and feel the hot jet of fire, rising out of my belly and up through my throat. The flames leap from my mouth, scorching the wall behind him but they just wash over him. He’s shielded somehow. He laughs right in my face, and I see a maniacal gleam of joy in his eye.

“Blood Magick, Simon!” he shouts. “Your fire can’t touch me!”

I breath a wall  of fire at him again, giving it everything I have this time, and he just laughs. The fire doesn’t affect him at all. I lash at him with my tail, which has grown thick and muscular, spiked at the end, not long and skinny the way my tail has always been. Capheus leaps out of the way, and rolls, over and over, avoiding my tail by a split second as it hits the wall of rock he was standing in front of with a loud, dull thud. He crouches on all fours on the sandy floor, looking more like a spider than ever.

He stands up and brushes the dirt off his hands. His stupid white suit is filthy, streaked with dirt and splattered with blood. He shades his eyes and looks up to where I’m circling at the top of the canyon. Then he walks over to the entrance to the stony tunnel, where my uncle Sal is still standing, gaping at me.

“Have a good night, Simon,” Capheus says. He and Sal disappear inside the tunnel and I hear the ring  of metal hitting rock as a gate far below me clanks shut, and then all is still.

I’m trapped. There’s no passage in this cavern that is large enough for dragon me to fit through. I wonder if I can turn back into my normal self. I try to concentrate on my human self, but all I see in my mind’s eye is a sad, lost boy, confused and bruised by the world. I’m not sure I want to be that boy anymore. I flex my back, feel the long powerful muscles moving every vertebrate of my spine in an easy, sinuous motion. I wave my strong, muscular tail from side to side, flex and extend my claws. They’re retractable, like a cat’s. My vision is stronger, sharper. I notice some petroglyphs, carved into the canyon wall, high up here where I’m flying, where no human could reach, at least not easily. I fly over to examine them, and I see they’re all in the shape of spiders of some kind - spiders with human faces, spiders walking about on human sets of legs, spiders sitting in the middle of their webs, waiting.

I explore the canyon but there’s no way out. There are only two  entrances and they’re both way too small for me. The gate Capheus shut behind him is a solid metal grill. I shoot fire at it, but it doesn’t budge. I fly to the top of the canyon, where the sky is lightning toward dawn, but the opening is too narrow to fly through. At last I settle on the dry sandy floor, and lay my heavy head on my front legs. I wonder, vaguely, what dragons eat. I sigh and a small flame licks my nostrils.

Just as I’m drifting off to sleep I hear a loud pop and _he’s_ sitting beside me. The Humdrum. He’s not eating anything, for once, and he looks kind of uncertain. Nervous, almost scared. I look at him with my dragon eye. His force field seems much less powerful. I was afraid that his power would increase, with all this, but the opposite seems to have happened. I don’t know if my dragon self can resist him better, or if the fact that I turned into a dragon has somehow sapped his strength.

“Whoa, Big Bro,” he says softly, his eyes (my eyes) hesitant. “It’s a whole new you.”

“What do you want?” I say. Two jets of fire come out of my nostrils as I speak My voice - my new dragon voice is deep and hollow sounding and incredibly powerful.

He looks taken aback. “I…...I just want to be with you, Big Bro. To work together. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Why are you always on the side of evil?” I ask him. “Why do you always align yourself with the worst the magical world has to offer?”

“I _am_ evil,“ he says. “I am evil itself. The very source. And you’re good, You’ve always been good. Just like all the other ones. And your job is to try to fight me. Just like my job is to try to tempt you join me.”

“And what would happen if I did join you?” I ask.

“Oh,“ he says, and his blue eyes get this faraway look, like he’s suddenly cast in the middle of a happy dream. “Then big brother, we’d rule the world.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Not interested. So you may as well give up now.”

“We’ll see, Big Bro,” he says. “We’ll see.”

“And I’m not your brother,” I shout, suddenly tired of him. It comes out a roar, and a wall of flame shoots toward him. With a truly frightened look on his face he disappears with a loud pop.

 _Well, that’s something anyway,_ I think. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I settle myself down on the dry sandy floor of my prison, and for the moment, I sleep.

******** 

 

**Baz**

We gather in the control room of the dirigible, which is filled with the soft thrumming of the engines, directly below us. Amoun’s wife, Fatima, is at the controls. She smiles at us, but she’s clearly concentrating on piloting the dirigible. Their son, Matlan is sitting beside her, looking surly as always. They must have gotten someone else to mind the restaurant. He gives me a half nod of acknowledgement, his eyes hooded, and I nod back. I’m not really pleased to see him.

Amoun waves his wand and a tray of food appears. He serves us strong sweet coffee which he pours from a silver urn into tiny cups. There are almond biscuits to go with it. I feel better after the coffee, I admit it, and the biscuits settle my queasy stomach. Amoun’s food always has a way of making me feel better. Even Penny eats, and she looks better for it. She’s not so pale and I can tell her focus is back by the way she’s looking impatiently about the room.

We gather around the large map table in the center of the control room. “Matlan, come here,” says Amoun sharply, and Matlan shuffles over, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. I don’t know why he hates his father so, but the tension between them is palpable.

Laid out in front of us is a big map of the southwest, so big it covers the table. Amoun has a large magnifying glass which he peers through solemnly, then hands it to Penny, who is standing to his right. She looks through it, then passes it to Micah. The glass goes around the table. When it comes my turn, I look through it and the map magically comes alive. I can lower it , and see down to the smallest detail, cars driving down the highway, cattle in dry scrabbly grasslands, eagles soaring over the snowy mountains, which stand out in vivid relief.

Micah taps his wand on a corner of the map, where the town of Antelope sits in the middle of a dry, dusty plain. “Simon’s there,” he says. “We were able to trace him on his phone.”

“Are you certain?” Amoun says quietly. “Perhaps they have moved him.”

Micah puts his wand away and whips out his phone. He taps in numbers for a few a moments, then shakes his head impatiently. “Nada,” he says. “His battery must have died.”

“What can you tell us about Capheus?” I ask Amoun.

 “Capheus is a dangerous man,” Amoun says. “And unpredictable. I knew him years ago. He can be most compelling. He was initially allied with David Weir, and he helped him, I believe, to develop much of the magic that led, eventually to the unleashing of the Humdrum, at the time of Simon’s birth. By that time, however, Capheus had already broken with David, for reasons that remain shrouded in mystery. He has always claimed that it was over the death of that unfortunate boy, but I suspect the reasons were more complex than that.”

“Pippin,” I say, remembering that night with Capheus, in the Lucky Lizard.

“That’s right,” says Amoun, looking at me sharply.

“He told us that story,” I say. “Me and Simon. The night we met with him, in Las Vegas.”

Amoun is studying me thoughtfully, across the map table.

“Where were you, when Pippin died?” I ask. “Were you friends with them as well?”

Amoun shakes his head. “I did not attend Watford,” he says. “I was educated at the Sahar Institute of Higher Magic, in Cairo. My entanglement with Capheus came years later.”

“What happened?” asks Micah, quietly.

Amoun looks about the room, studying each of our faces in turn.

“It is a long story, “ he says at last with a sigh.

“I think we should hear it,” says Agatha.

Amoun looks round the table, sighs again, and begins his tale.

“I was living peacefully in Cairo at the time," he starts. "I was pursuing an academic career, at the Sahar  Institute. I was one of the younger faculty. I was quite lucky to get the job. Positions don’t open up very often, and they are highly coveted. So I was working hard, teaching, writing, doing research. The pay for such a position is not high, but it was enough to live on. Fatima and I had a small flat, in the old city, and Matlan was a baby. I was pleased with my life. We were happy. Cairo is a fantastic city for a young person, filled with amazing architecture, cafes, bazaars, and theaters. Fatima made wonderful meals from simple ingredients she found at the markets, and in the evenings we’d take Matlan and walk about the city, down by the river or in the older sections, admiring the architecture, or sit in a cafe, have a coffee and watch the world go by.

“I was one of the potions masters at the institute, and my research was focussed in transfiguration - potions that create a change in the physical form of a person. It was dangerous work, and exacting, but I had a modest talent for it, and the Sahar Institute is one of the greatest magical universities in the world, and a center for this kind of research. It was through my work that I first encountered Capheus.

“After he broke with David Weir, Capheus came here, to the American southwest. Here he studied with Native American herbalists and shamans. He was initiated into the Anansi branch of magic, which is focused on channeling the ancient powers of the spider. The spider, of course, is a trickster - wise, very wise, but untrustworthy. She is a maker of traps, a spinner of webs, a shape shifter, and a drinker of blood.

“Capheus had knowledge of several herbs that I needed for my work, as well as a deep understanding of the shape shifting principles that are used in Anansi Magic. He and I started corresponding. He came to Cairo, and before long, I was drawn into his schemes.”

Amoun takes the glass and studies the the map intently. Matlan has lost his disinterested slouch and is staring at his father with frank interest. He looks much less unpleasant without the bored scowl he usually wears.

After a moment, Amoun shakes himself and looks up at all of us. He hands the glass off to Penny. “It was the gravest mistake of my life,” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but Capheus is interested in only one thing. He wants power, power that he can only access through one means. He wants to finish the work he started with David Weir, years ago, at Watford. The work that I believe David Weir stole from him, and blocked him from, for years. He wants access to that great source of darkness, the one that you refer to as the Insidious Humdrum. He wants to use that power, he wants to channel it, to control it.

“The Humdrum?” Agatha whispers. “No one can control the Humdrum. He’s too powerful.”

“He’s too evil,” puts in Penny.

“Capheus has always believed that he can,” Amoun replies. “I spent many hours with Capheus. Days. Weeks. He can be a most persuasive individual. He didn’t tell me everything, but he told me enough. The Humdrum was his goal then, and the fact that he is pursuing Simon suggests that it still is today. Simon’s power has always been linked to the Humdrum. Simon’s birth unleashed the Humdrum into the world, though of course, the Humdrum is much older than Simon. He is an ancient evil. His current incarnation is only the most recent of many.”

“So what happened?" I say, my voice coming out more harshly than I intended. “With you and Capheus?”

“I was….. Foolish,” Amoun says, looking down again. “I was hungry for advancement. I knew the knowledge he had access to could help me advance my research. And for a time, it did. My work was progressing incredibly fast. I was a rising star at the University, slated for a brilliant career. But I allowed myself to be drawn into his schemes. He needed a second magician to help him with some of the spells he was developing. And I needed the knowledge that he had. He had spent years with the Anansi cult, studying their ways, their magic, their herbs. His knowledge was a key to my success academically. And he needed my help, to work his dark magic, to try to locate the Humdrum, to draw him out. This was in the early years, when Simon was just a small child, and the Humdrum’s power was only starting to be realized. For a long time, we weren’t sure if he even existed.

“In any case, I struck a devil’s bargain. I agreed to help Capheus locate and access some some of the Humdrum’s power, in exchange for certain knowledge only he could provide me with. It was my demise. Eventually our attempts backfired, and we were discovered. I lost my position, my reputation. I was forced out of Egypt, and fled, to England with my family, filled with shame. My academic career was over, and I became a street vendor to support my family. The rest, you know.”

“What about….all this?” asks Micah, gesturing about the cabin.

“The airship?” says Amoun. “That belongs to Fatima, my wife. She is from a long line of aerialists and balloonists. It was our means of escape, at the time we were fleeing Egypt. And it has proved itself useful on multiple other occasions since then.”

“Look!” says Penny, suddenly. She has been studying the map intently, through the glass, while Amoun tells his story. She is pointing to the black gash in the map that is Wire Canyon. She hands me the glass, and I peer through it. The landscape instantly comes to life. I see the dry sage bush scrubland, the trail Simon and I hiked on, that day that seems so long ago, before all this started. I see the cave where we stopped for lunch and snogged in the cool dark shadows. I move the glass a bit and study the narrow dark opening where the canyon is open to the sky. There’s a steady stream of black puffs of smoke, rising out of the gash on the earth.

“That’s where Simon is,” says Amoun, quietly.

“How do you know?” I ask.

Amoun shrugs. “I was able to find you, in this dry landscape. I am able to find Simon as well. The trick is going to be, how to get him out.”


	18. Red Rubber Ball

**Baz**

After our strategy meeting I climb the spiral staircase to the little observation deck above the control room. I need to get away. I should be sleeping. I’m exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Cream crackered, as Simon would say. But I’m too keyed up to sleep.

I watch the majestic landscape unfold below me. The rockies, the plains, the deserts. At last the landscape switches to the dry drama of the southwest, with its buttes and canyons. The sun is starting to sink in the west, the light getting all soft and golden, when I hear someone on the staircase. It’s Micah.

He goes over to the railing and looks out over the landscape below.

“We’ll be there soon,” he comments.

“Yeah,” I say. I’ve never had much to say to Micah.

“How’s Penny?” I ask, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“She’s asleep, thank Merlin,” he says.

“Everything going all right with…. The baby, and everything?”

He shrugs. “I guess,” he says. “I don’t know how you’re even supposed to tell.”

“She seems all right,” I say.

“How would _you_ know?” he asks. It’s not exactly hostile, but almost.

“I have five younger siblings,” I reply.

“Oh,” he responds. “I.….I didn’t know that.”

 “I’ve watched my stepmother go through it many times. Penny will manage.”

“It’s been…….stressful,” he says.

“I imagine.”

“She tries not to show it, but she feels miserable.”

I shudder inwardly.I know it’s a natural instinct and all that, to want to have children, but I’ve never really seen the appeal of pregnancy.

“Baz?”

“Here.”

“I……..I’m happy to help out, I really am. I know how much you and Simon mean to Penny. But…..if anything happens to her….or…...or the baby..…” he trails off.

What would he do? Troll me on facebook? But he is helping me. He’s helping a lot. So I swallow back my stupid scorn.

“I understand,” I say. “I’ll do…..everything I can…...to make sure she doesn’t take any unnecessary risks. I care about her, too, you know. But…..”

“But what?”

 “Well….it’s Penny. She’s not one to avoid danger.”

“I know,” he says glumly. “That’s the problem.”

We hear the engines shift below us, and the dirigible starts to descend.

“Almost there,” Micah says. “We should head downstairs.”

He starts to head down the spiral staircase. Just as I’m following, I hear a loud pop behind me. I feel that dry sucking sensation at once. Micah who is ahead me, two steps down, turns around and I see his white face. He’s never met the Insidious Humdrum.

“Hello Bloodsucker,” the Humdrum sings out. I can barely move. With an enormous effort, I reach for my wand, turn and face him.

“You!” I hiss. He’s perched on the guard rail, chewing gum. He blows a large bubble. He looks just like Simon did when I first met him. Eleven years old, baggy jeans, scruffy white t-shirt, buzz cut. That hungry, raw look in his eyes.

Except Simon never looked that mean.

“Where’s Simon?” I hiss out. His force field is so strong I can barely move my lips. I don’t think I could raise my wand to cast a spell. Not that I have enough magick to banish him. Not without Simon.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he sneers, and blows another bubble. The pink gum explodes all over his face and he licks it off.

“Is he…..hurt?” I choke out.

“No” says the Humdrum. He has that stupid red rubber ball with him and he starts throwing it in the air and catching it. “Not hurt. Just…..different.” He throws the ball again. He has to lean way back to catch it. Maybe he'll fall off the railing.

“What do you mean, different?” I say. It hurts to move my lips to speak. If I could only raise my wand arm I’d have a shot at him.

“You’ll see. If you ever find him that is. Who’s this?” he asks, turning to Micah. “I haven’t ever seen this one before. He your new boyfriend?”

“Sod off!” I say. Forget my wand. I just wish I could move enough to kick him in the shins.

“Simon’s changed,” the Humdrum says as he throws and catches his ball. ”He’s not exactly your little puppy dog any more.”

What is he talking about? I long to hurt him.

“He’s fire, bloodsucker,” the Humdrum says. ”And we all know, you're the one that’s flammable.”

I hear movement down below. It’s Matlan, sent by his father to fetch us, I suppose. He sniffs the air, then stands stock still. He must be out of range of the Humdrum’s force field, because he raises his arm and casts a spell.

 _ **“The morning sun is rising like a red rubber ball!**_ ” Matlan shouts, and the Humdrum’s ball rises, in an arc, out of his sticky hands and up, up into the sky, heading directly toward the setting sun, which is glowing now, like a huge red globe in the dusty, western sky.

“Noooooooooo!” screams the Humdrum, and he’s gone, zooming off the railing and into the sunset after his precious red ball.

Matlan is standing there, looking around like he can’t believe his spell actually worked. Micah is shaking himself, as if he’s coming out of a daze, and then he turns and starts clapping Matlan on the back, and shaking his hand. And I have to say, though I keep my distance, I like Matlan better after that.

*********

**Simon**

I wake up in the cavern, and the light is golden and warm. It’s slanting in through the crack in the ceiling, high above me. It feels like late afternoon. I must have slept all day.

I hear a weird clicking noise behind me. It’s in the lower tunnel, the one with the metal gate that Capheus slammed shut last night. I turn my dragon head around slowly and peer through the metal grating. There’s something dark and shiny behind the gate, about the size of a large dinner plate, lurking in the stony shadows. I watch, patiently, my dragon’s vision focussed on that shiny, iridescent black shell. I hear the clicking again and the thing scuttles to the side. It’s got legs. Many legs. Hairy legs. It turns and faces me and I see its eyes - eight of them, greenish black and bulging, set in two rows above two large hairy pincers. It rubs its pincers together, and I hear that clicking. It scuttles toward the gate, its legs making a scrabbling sound on the dry sand, then it squeezes through metal bars and into the cavern. It’s followed by another one, and a third.

I stare at the three giant spiders. They move cautiously toward me. They seem more curious than threatening, though I suppose if I was in human form I would probably feel differently. They’re pretty big - huge for spiders. Their shiny black bodies are more like the size of serving platters, like you’d serve a Christmas turkey on, or like the platters they would use to bring out the roast beef at start of term dinner back at Watford. The lead spider stands up on its back legs and it could easily reach to a person's waist. I breath fire at them and they hiss and scuttle backwards, into the shadows, but then start making their tentative way toward me again.

I feel mildly annoyed. I wonder how long this is going to go on. They’re disturbing me. I know I’m trapped in this cavern, I know Capheus isn’t going to leave me alone, but I was enjoying the tranquility and solitude of this beautiful place. It’s strange. As a dragon I feel strong and…..peaceful. All the worry and sadness that I’ve lived with all my life have evaporated, as if they never were.

I kind of like it.

I feel calm and quiet and strong. I’ll either defeat the Humdrum and Capheus or I won’t. I know I’ll do everything I can, give it all my strength, and that's all I can do. It’s a strangely restful feeling.

I get up on my compact, muscular dragon legs and stretch. I breathe out a long fiery breath, and watch the spiders scuttle away once more. I inhale the good dry desert air. I feel my lungs expand, my ribs spreading as they fill with air. I feel every molecule of oxygen, feeding the fire within me. My heart feels huge in my chest, beating hot and slow. Powerful. I stretch my back, vertebrate after vertebrate after vertebrate after vertebrate, an impossible number, but with my dragon brain I’m aware of every muscle, every sinew, every bone. I sweep my tail in a long arc on the sandy floor, extend and retract my claws. I scrape them against the rock wall, sharpening them, and they leave a satisfying series of white marks. I spread my wings and leap into the air. I feel the powerful muscles engaging in my back, feel the strength in my wings as they push against the air, lifting me up to the top of the cavern. The light glints off my shiny red scales.

The cavern is aglow with color in the late afternoon sunlight, stripes of roses, orange, pinks and mauves, layer upon layer, like a huge ice cream cake made of countless undulating sheets of sherbert. I fly up to examine the spidery petroglyphs again. I study them for a long while. They seem to be telling a story, but I can’t puzzle out what it is. At last I give up and practice flying about the cave. I try banking and sharp curves, dives and vertical climbs. I even experiment with flips but those don’t go so well.

I keep my eyes peeled for another way out but, nothing. I’ll just have to see what comes next, and deal with it. Which has always been my strategy, ever since I was a little kid and they told me I had to save the world. But I have to admit, it feels like a better plan now that I weigh several hundred stone and can breath fire.

I _am_ getting hungry though. I could definitely eat a pig or a cow or…..a dwarf. But I’d best not let myself think about wanting to eat sentient creatures. It could get me into trouble.

It reminds me of Baz, of how he always has to suppress his hunger for human blood. The thought of having that in common with him makes me laugh out loud, a big dragon’s laugh that shakes the walls of the cavern and echoes down the stony passages.

I settle back on the sandy floor. My laughter must have frightened off the giant spiders, or else they just got bored. I think of Baz then, and it comes to me so clearly, hot and strong, in my big fiery dragon’s heart, the love that I feel for him. It feels pure somehow, not confused and clouded, as it so often has been, especially lately, with so many other emotions - shame, embarrassment, envy, uncertainty. Resentment for how much I need him. All my questions about whether I really am gay, about who I really am, that I never seem to find answers to. And I see how little any of it matters, in the power and the light of that love. It makes me sad, all the time we’ve wasted, all the little ways we’ve betrayed each other, and I feel a dragon’s tear, salty and large, forming in the corner of my eye.

It’s then that I hear footsteps down the stone corridor. It’s Capheus and my Uncle Sal, and about twenty giant spiders. I wipe away my tear. I don’t want Capheus to get that. Dragon’s tears are powerfully magical and highly prized. I sit up and spread my wings, and face what’s coming next.

********

Capheus opens the metal grating with his wand and the spiders pour into the cavern. They get right to work, weaving and spinning something - something large - something shaped like a chair. It’s a throne - a throne made of spider webs. When it’s finished Capheus seats himself in it and looks up at me expectantly. He’s wearing his white suit - he must have cleaned it somehow or else it’s a new one. He's wearing a silver crown in the shape of - what else? - spiders - on his head.

He rests his hands in the arm rests of that spidery throne and looks right at me, but it’s Sal - my uncle, who speaks.

“Simon,” Sal says, his voice soft, almost pleading. He’s standing beside the spider web throne, wearing scruffy jeans and a red t-shirt that says _The Antelope Bar_ , in curving yellow script. He looks as if he’d like to sit down.

“What do you want?” I say, my dragon voice echoing and resonating through the cavern.

“It’s not too late to join with us, Simon,” Sal says. “With your new power, and Capheus’ knowledge we could do great things. We can hold back the Humdrum, we can make the world safe for magic at last. I know you’d like that, wouldn’t you Simon? I know your Mum would want that for you. My sister - Lucy,” he says, and his voice cracks. “She died giving birth to you Simon - to you and your power. She loved you, but all that power killed her. Don’t just throw it away again. Work with us - for her, Simon. For her memory.”

I’d always heard Sal was weak and I see it now, looking at him. I can picture the arc of his life - growing up in that London townhouse, with my grandmother Salisbury and her fussy ways. Overshadowed by his sister, Lucy, so beautiful and strong. Not enough magick to get into Watford. I wonder how he ended up here, in this dry barren land, in the thrall of crazy spidery Capheus. I’ll probably never know. And even though he’s working for Capheus, who has clearly shown himself to be my enemy there is room in my slowly beating dragon heart to feel empathy for him, and pity.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “No. That is not my path.” My voice booms and resonates all through the cavern.

Capheus speaks up sharply. “It’s not really a choice, Simon,” he says. The spiders surrounding him click their pincers menacingly. “You can join with us willingly. That would be by far the easiest way. But it is not the only way.”

With my new sharp vision I see him very clearly. I’ve only actually met him a handful of times, though he looms so large in my imagination. I see the greed and the envy, the fear and the loneliness. I feel it, in my huge heart, beating hot and slow in the middle of my chest, and it fills me with such sadness that I almost weep. I feel the wounded pride of a man who believes he’s been cheated by life. I feel the desperation of a gambler who is about to play his final hand.

“You misled me,” I say.

“I did what I had to do,” Capheus says.

“You’ve treated me badly,” I reply. A hot tendril of flame licks out of my nose and across my face. If it frightens Capheus he doesn’t show it.

“I only did what was necessary,” he replies.

“It is not too late,” I say, and my eyes lock onto his pale blue ones. “You are a mage of great skill and power. Leave your greed and envy behind. Join with me to fight the Humdrum, to banish him, once and for all.”

“That would kill you,” Capheus says, returning my gaze, unblinking, defiant. “Or, at the very least, destroy your power. Your life is linked to his, Simon. He was created with your birth. I know this - I helped your father develop the spells that created you - that made you what you are. If his power is destroyed, then so is yours. And then all that we could accomplish would be lost.”

“Turn your power to good instead of evil, Capheus, before it is too late!” I say.

“Where is he?” Capheus demands. “The Humdrum?” His harsh voice echoes off the beautiful stone walls around us.

“I don’t know,” I say. “And it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to help you.” My voice rumbles forth, deep and old as the walls themselves.

“We have ways of making you cooperate Simon,” he says.

I laugh at that, and the walls tremble. He is making me tired. A weak man, an evil man, with his threats, his stupid spiders. Like all the evil men that have gone before him. I can wait him out. I can wait forever. I have the patience of the ages. I lower myself to the sandy floor, pull in my wings around me. I’m just about to lower my heavy head to my front legs, and close my eyes, when I hear a shout coming from the stony passage high above me, the one that leads to the narrow opening to Wire Pass.

Unfortunately, I know that voice.

It’s Baz.

And it sounds like he’s in trouble.


	19. Fire

**Baz**

When it comes to a fight, I’d rather have Bunce at my side than anyone. But I promised Micah that I’d help to keep her out of danger, so when it’s time to split up, I agree that Penny should stay above ground, at the top of the canyon, with Micah and Amoun. That leaves Agatha, Matlan and myself to hike into the cavern through the narrow Wire Canyon pass.

Fatima drops us in a strip of sagebrush and cactus about a mile from the canyon. We walk past the eerie ominous stone figures. They’ve obviously been magically animated, as a sort of guard force. The ogre licks his lips and taps his club against his hand, the frilled lizard hisses at us softly but otherwise they leave us alone.

By the time we hike to the entrance, darkness is falling. We use our phones as flashlights, the bright light casting harsh shadows on the striped walls. I take the lead, moving silently as I know how to do, phone in one hand, wand in the other. I hear Matlan and Agatha behind me, the little scuffing sounds of their feet, the rustling of their clothing loud in the narrow space. The power radiating off these walls is so thick that the air is hard to breathe.

Agatha sees them first. I hear her gasp sharply behind me and she clutches my shoulder. I look up and then I see them. Shadowy forms moving across the rockface above us, silent and menacing.

They come crawling down the walls in the dim twilight of the narrow canyon. They’re fast and there are a lot of them, too many to count. Big dark spidery…..creatures. Shiny black shells and long hairy legs. And eyes - rows and rows of eyes, glowing greenish and eerie in the low light. I start blasting spells at them right off. I’m using _ **“Up up and away,”** _ and _**“I want to be alone,”** _ to hurl them away from me and into the wall. Agatha is casting her old standby, “ _ **Scaramouche, scaramouche can you do the fandango?”**_ It’s pretty funny to see the giant spiders dancing away with castanets on their feet. Matlan is using _**“Fuck off!”**_ which is surprisingly effective, and after a while, I switch to that as well.

But there are too many of them. First they get Matlan, winding him in sticky spider webs so he can’t move. When I stop casting spells for one moment, I find that my ankles are tethered together and then, before I can free myself, the spiders are on me. Their feet, which end in little claws, are scrabbling over my skin as they bind and truss me tightly. Agatha is still casting  (she’s switched to _**“Fuck off!”**_ by now as well, and then she come up with _**“Fuck you all to hell!”**_ ) but then I hear her scream in frustration and she stops casting and I know they’ve got her. Then I feel a bite in my neck and I don’t know anything after that.

********

**Simon**

I listen to the fighting, the sound of spells being cast and spiders thunking against the stone walls echoing down the narrow space of Wire Pass and into the cavern. I recognize Agatha’s voice, and another male I can’t place. And Baz, of course, sounding more and more desperate. I can tell they’re losing.

The spiders carry them in, rolled so tightly they look like big spools of thread, fat in the middle, like they use in factories for weaving fabric. Baz, Agatha and Matlan. The spiders dump the three of them on the sandy floor and stand there clicking their pincers. Can spiders look pleased with themselves? I think that these ones do.

The prisoners have their eyes closed, but as I watch Baz, he stirs and looks right at me. Beside him, Agatha and Matlan also start to come to.

When I see Baz - what can I say? It’s emotional. I love him so much and yet I know, in that moment that we’re not going to be together any more. I’m not sure I would have ever figured this out as a human, but as a dragon it is very clear to me.

There are so many reasons why, but I don’t think about them. I don’t think at all. It’s all raw feelings and I let it come, wave after wave of sadness, engulfing me. I’m looking at Baz and he’s looking at me and I think he knows it too and neither of us can look away.

It makes me so sad, that knowledge. I feel as if my huge heart is breaking in two. My chest feels tight, as if I can barely breath, and I feel a hot tear forming in the corner of my eye.

When Capheus speaks it feels like a minor annoyance.

“Well,” he says, “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

He gets up out of his stupid throne and walks over to where Baz, Agatha and Matlan are lying on the floor, bound up like flies in a spider’s web.

I breathe fire at him, but it washes over him once again. He laughs. The spiders scuttle nervously back into the corners.

“What are you going to do now Simon?” Capheus asks.

I hear a loud pop behind me and we all turn. The Humdrum is sitting in Capheus’ spiderweb throne. He’s eating a mint aero bar and his face is covered with chocolate. He gives us a huge happy grin and takes another bite of chocolate.

********

**Baz**

I wake up in a large cavern with a huge red dragon standing over me. Looking at me with its blue eyes. A look of intense sadness and…..love. I know at once who it is.

He’s in there. Simon’s in there.

Capheus gets up from where he’s sitting in some weird spidery throne and stands right beside us. He’s wearing his white tux with a spider crown on his head. His light blue eyes are bloodshot, wild, and his hair has come out of its ponytail and is standing up all around his head. He’s pointing his wand right at us. The evil giant spiders are all around us, clicking their pincers and there’s another bloke, someone I’ve never met, standing in the background, looking more nervous than menacing.

“Well,” Capheus says, “Well, well, well. Look what we have here.”

Simon the dragon gives a roar, and a jet of flame shoots toward Capheus. The spiders scuttle away, but the fire just washes over Capheus, and he laughs. I hear Agatha give a little gasp behind me.

“Baz,” she whispers. “You’re flammable.”

“What are you going to do now Simon?” Capheus asks, looking pleased with himself.

I hear a loud pop and there’s the Insidious Humdrum, sitting in Capheus’ throne, eating a mint aero bar with a huge ugly smirk on his face. I feel the dry suck of him and I hear Agatha gasp beside me. Matlan gives a low, fierce hiss.

I look in Simon’s eye again. It’s a dragon eye - large reptilian, with an elongated vertical pupil. But it's the exact same color blue as Simon's. I focus on that - the one fragment of him that’s left. The magic is thick around him. There’s an enormous tear hanging in the corner of his eye. It breaks my heart to see that tear. I literally feel it breaking in two, a searing pain that leaves me breathless.

My poor boy. In that moment, I just want to go to him.

The tear hangs in the corner of that blue, blue eye and then, suddenly, a part of me is inside that magic dragon tear and I know his fire can’t hurt me. I stand up. The sticky spider webs that held me fall away like - well - like real spiderwebs. I straighten to my full height, and, never taking my eyes off Simon’s, I reach for my wand and pull it out.

We’ve always been able to share our magic. That’s nothing new. But it was always kind of a one way street - him pushing his power into me. This is different. His power is different this time. I feel it all around me - radiant and hot. Fire. My element. I think of my mother. Of her rough fire turner’s hand on my cheek, her husky voice, saying, _“The flame will never hurt you if you love it enough.”_

I don’t dare take my eyes off of Simon’s dragon ones. His power is in the air, fiery, crackling, alive. And I feel it - the love between us - a connection strong and true - stronger and truer than anything I’ve ever known. The magical tear in his eye is expanding reaching out towards me until we’re both enclosed in a watery bubble of magic. Simon is shrinking, changing, his dragon wings are pulling in, his tail is disappearing, his face is morphing, melting into his true face and we’re running toward each other. I grab both his hands which are still red and scaly although they have a human shape. His power is pouring into me and mine is pouring into him and we kiss. We stand there in our magic bubble, kissing and holding hands and laughing.

 

********

**Simon**

Suddenly I’ve had enough. I want to take charge. I need to take charge. This certainty is filling my head and I feel my power coming - clear and light and hot. It’s fire but it’s more than fire. There’s no smoke. This energy is pure flame. I know it’s the dragon magick that has been building and growing inside me, but the funny thing is, it’s being generated from the part of me that's still human. The part of me that’s never given up, no matter how bad things have gotten, the part of me that knows, somehow that when things are darkest it’s up to me to set them right. I’ve looked the Humdrum in the face before, into all that darkness and despair, and I’ve overcome it. I survived my crappy, lonely childhood. I went to Watford -scared and awkward and alone and I found friendship and love. I’ve stood up to my psychopath father. I’ve lost my magic and survived. _Follow your heart,_ they always told me. I look over at Baz and see the love in his eyes, and my heart is on fire. I feel the heat rising from the center of me. I didn’t ask for all this power, it was put into me, before I was even born. It’s always been this huge out of control force. It’s always controlled me. But now, for the first time ever, really, I feel in control of it and I know how to use it.

It’s easy. Baz is lying there, tied up in spider webs and I will them away. He stands up and he’s not taking his eyes off mine. They’re blazing with love and power. I feel my magic, hot and fiery, crackling all around me but I surround him with a watery bubble of safety and he runs toward me.

I grab him by the hands and when he kisses me, his mouth is a cool pearl in the hot firestorm of magic that’s all around us. I kiss him back. I’m changing, getting smaller, morphing back into human form, but I still feel the slow steady beat of the dragon’s heart within me.

Capheus has a furious look on his face and he’s casting spells at us like mad but they can’t penetrate our magic watery bubble. I look Baz right in the eye.

“Ready?” I say and he nods.

“Of course.”

It’s the Humdrum that counts. Capheus is insignificant as a spider. The Humdrum is the real threat, and we turn to him as one and direct all that fiery dragon power to him. He grins at us, his impish, catch me if you can, eleven year old grin. He disappears from the spiderweb throne with a loud pop. He’s not going to give up without a fight.

********

**Baz**

There’s a shout from above. I look up, and and through the crack at the top of the cavern, I see Amoun, Penny and Micah. Amoun casts _**“Light as a feather!”**_ and the three of them float slowly down to the ground. Capheus and his flunky are casting spells at them, and they’re returning the fire.

 _ **“Live free or die!”**_ Amoun casts at Agatha and Matlan. Their bonds fall away. They stand and pull out their wands. The spiders surge forward. Penny and Micah land and run over to help fight them. Amoun heads for Capheus, and it’s clear at once that they have a score to settle. The two of them start dueling in earnest, a circle of magic cast about them.

Simon drops my hand, and reaches for his thigh. He closes his eyes and I hear him murmuring an incantation under his breath. His magical sword, the Sword of the Mages, appears in his hand, blazing blue white light. I haven’t seen it in five years. He rushes over to where the others are battling the horde of spiders, and I’m right behind him.

We jump into the fray. Simon’s blade is moving incredibly fast, a white hot stick of fire. Penny’s casting _**“Into thin air!”**_ to good effect, and Matlan and Agatha are having good luck with _**“Fuck you all to hell!”** _ Simon’s fire magic is coursing through me and I don’t even need a spell. I’m just casting pure flame, red and hot, my wand essentially turned into a fire thrower. The spiders make a satisfying sizzle when my flame hits its mark.

Just as we’re getting the upper hand with the spiders I hear a loud pop and he’s back. The Humdrum, hovering in the air in middle of the cavern and blowing raspberries at all of us. “C’mon Chosen One,” he taunts Simon. “C’mon with all your dragon power. Let’s see if you’re a match for me now! You never have been before!”

Which isn’t actually true. Simon’s defeated him more than once. But the Humdrum’s always been a slimy little liar.

“No!” I hear Matlan yell. He’s staring at his father at the other end of the cavern. We all turn to where Amoun and Capheus are duelling. Capheus has Amoun pinned against the wall, his wand at his throat and murder in his eye. The other bloke, the one wearing jeans has got his arms around Amoun’s chest, holding him fast.

Without hesitation, Simon hands his sword to Matlan. “Deal with them!” he shouts and Matlan races across the cavern, blazing sword in hand, to help his father.

“To me!” Simon shouts. “Baz! Penny! Agatha! Micah! I need you! Right now!” We all join hands, and the heat of Simon’s magic surges through us all and we’re rising into the air. We surround the Humdrum in a circle of fiery power.

He looks over at Simon. “Fill me up, big bro!” he says. “If you can!”

Simon closes his eyes and squeezes my hand.

And then I feel it, the true power of the Insidious Humdrum, the deep sucking vacuum of him. He’s nothing but a hole, a hole filled with blackness and despair. Every bad thought I’ve ever had, every doubt, every fear, comes crowding into my mind, and it literally takes my breath away. All the air is being drawn from my lungs, the skin is stretching off my bones with the power of him. Simon is floating beside me in mid air. He's clutching my hand. His head is thrown back, his eyes are closed and his fiery magic is crackling all around us. There’s a stream of power going from the middle of Simon’s chest right into the Humdrum and I feel it, pouring out of Simon and into that back hole.

The Humdrum has his ball clutched to his chest and his face is getting redder and redder. There are little flames coming out of his ears and the air we’re breathing is hot as fire. It’s so hot I don’t know how it is that we aren’t all burning up. I’m just concentrating on the Humdrum, trying to help Simon force all that power into him as he glows first red then then yellow then white, like a flame. 

Simon’s power is a steady stream pouring into the Humdrum. A river of fire, filling that black hole. It goes on and on.

I cling on to Simon’s hand and I wonder if he’s going to be able to stop it before he’s gone completely.

********

**Amoun**

When I see Capheus standing there at the bottom of the cavern I know he is mine to deal with. Mine alone. I land on the dry sandy soil, and we are dueling at once. I feel the hot power of Simon’s magic about me, the ancient power of the dragon race. I hear the cries and shouts as the others battle the spiders, but I have eyes only for Capheus.

I have a score to settle.

The dueling is hot and fierce. We’re evenly matched. I nearly have him, though, when his minion, a strange man I had barely noticed, trips me and grabs me from behind.

Then Capheus’ wand is at my throat and I know I am going to die, and I think of Fatima, of her long dark hair, of her deep eyes, soft with love.

Then Matlan is there, with a shining sword in his hand and anger blazing in his eyes. Capheus loosens his grip on me and turns to face Matlan. The other man scuttles away, and I watch in wonder, as my son, my brave beautiful boy, cuts down my mortal enemy with that fiery sword.

********

 

**Simon**

It’s all going into him. All of it. All of me. Everything I have. I open up every reserve, every tap, every pore. All that heat. All that power. I know what to do with it at last.

I don’t know what’s going to be left of me when this is done, but I know deep within me that it doesn’t matter. This is what my power is meant for. This is what it's good for. To banish the darkness.

The Humdrum is looking at me with a wounded look in his eyes. I see his lips move. I can’t hear him, through the rush of power that is swirling all around us but I read his lips and I know what he’s saying.

 _“We could have ruled the world, big bro. We could have ruled eternity._ ”

“I’m not even tempted,” I answer him.

I cling on to Baz’s hand on one side of me and Penny’s on the other and I keep on pouring in my power. Filling him up. Putting him out.

I look down and see Amoun, standing on the floor of the cavern with his hands raised. He’s covered in blood. Matlan is standing beside him with the Sword of the Mages raised in triumph. Capheus lays at their feet on the ground. Sal is nowhere to be seen.

Amoun speaks and his voice rings out in the cavern, powerfully magical.

_**“Down came the rain and washed the spider out!”** _

I watch through the haze of heat as a river starts spilling out the opening to Wire Pass, a large river, a wall of water, rushing turbulently toward us, an old stream, called forth from an ancient source. It starts to fill the cavern. The spiders try to scuttle away, but they’re caught in the swirling eddies of water.

I’m almost done. It’s almost over. The Humdrum is just a burning ember now, white hot and glowing. I feel the last of my power, leaving me, and then it’s just me, the essence of me, and he’s going to take that too, and really, I don’t mind. My heart slows down to almost nothing and I feel the relief, the incredible relief, of not having to fight any more.

“Simon!” Baz’s voice is sharp, coming from a long way off. “Stop!”

“Baz,” I say, looking at him. “It’s okay. I’m ready.”

 _ **“No!”** _ he shouts, and it comes out a spell. He breaks the circle, grabbing me with both hands. The magical connection to the Humdrum is severed. I slump against him and we’re falling. Falling into the rising tide of water that is swirling around us. Capheus and Matlan and Amoun have already been engulfed. We fall into the water with a splash. The cold feels incredibly good on my hot, hot skin. We sink down, into the cool blue wet world, and then bob to the surface. The water is roiling all around us. It’s still rising. I look up, and I see the water reach the flaming ember that is the Humdrum and extinguish him. The white light goes out, and all that is left of him is a hiss of steam.

And then the waters close over our heads and I am sucked down, down into the cool forgiving darkness, with Baz’s arms tight around me.


	20. Carrying On

**Simon**

I wake up on the damp sand at the bottom of the cavern. I’m soaking wet and I’m surprised to be alive. When the water closed in over us, I was sure it was all over.

Baz is beside me. He still has his arms around me. I shift experimentally. It’s morning. The sun coming in through the crack above us is making the wet walls of the cavern glow iridescent and bright, unnaturally colorful.

Everything hurts, as if my body was buffeted against the walls of the cavern by the water. I hear other people moaning and stirring around me. Baz makes a low groan and pulls me closer.

I can tell at once that it’s gone. My power. I’m just a Normal. Again. I feel the emptiness inside me, like a huge hole where my magic used to be. That warm light, that blue kernel that tingled and glowed deep in my brain has disappeared.

It’s over.

Baz brushes the wet hair back from my forehead. “All right?” he whispers in my ear.

I’m not all right.

I just wish the Humdrum had taken me with him. I want to be gone, snuffed like a candle. I want to go with the Insidious Humdrum, the Great Devourer, my mortal enemy who is also happens to be me. I want to follow him into that dark, dark hole that he sprang out of. My power is gone, every drop and all that is left is emptiness.

Baz is holding me tight like he’s never going to let me go, but it doesn’t matter. I know, by now, that Baz can’t fix this. The only one who can fix it is me.

I turn away from him. My eyes are dry. This is a pain beyond tears.

********

**Baz**

I think it is in that moment, when Simon first turns away from me, that I start to realize it is really going to end.

We pick ourselves up in that cavern where the wet walls are shining, glowing garishly in the early morning light. These walls that haven’t seen water in millions of years, and probably won’t see water again for millions more. The colors are so brilliant they’re practically obscene.

Everyone’s okay. We’re all a bit battered and bruised, but no one’s seriously hurt. Capheus and his assistant and the Humdrum are gone, and I don’t think they’re coming back. Micah has his arm protectively about Penny. Amoun is looking at Matlan with new fatherly pride in his eyes. Simon is quiet and pale, not looking at anyone, not talking.

We hear the thrumming of the dirigible’s engines high above us. A silvery ladder descends into the cavern and we all climb up.

Back on the dirigible Fatima has a meal for us. Egg and toast, tomato and beans. A proper English breakfast. And of course Amoun’s mint tea, strong and sweet and fortifying, like a draught of life itself. Simon barely eats though, and he’s still not speaking or making eye contact.

Even though Capheus and the Humdrum are gone I don’t feel that great. I don’t like the look of Simon. His magic is gone again, and he’s not taking it very well.

I don’t know how we can go back to all that. The depression, the resentment, the sadness. As bad as this past year has been, at least he’s had some energy, some hope in his eye, a spring in his step. Now all that is gone again.

After we eat we fall into bed in the small neat sleeping compartments that are tucked up above the main salon. I drag Simon into bed with me. I put my arms around him and pull him close. I bury my nose in his curls and breathe him in. The dirigible’s engines hum soothingly in the background.

“I love you," I sigh into his hair.

“You should have let me go,” he whispers. “I was ready.”

“I know,” I whisper back. “But I couldn’t…..I just couldn’t.”

He falls asleep like a rock in my arms.

********

 

**Simon**

I wake up before Baz does. For a long time, I just lay there and watch him sleep, and think about everything. I really don’t know what’s going to happen next. I didn’t think I was going to make it, this time. Now I have to somehow pick up the pieces, and carry on.

Baz is beautiful like this, his hair falling in a dark wave across his forehead, his face relaxed and peaceful. His lips are a little pale. He’ll need to hunt soon.

I like him. I like him so much.

I don’t know why this works for me. Is it because Baz is a boy? Partly yes and partly no. That’s only a piece of the story, although I have to admit I like Baz’s body, all of it. I like the boy parts, I like them a lot, so I guess that makes me gay. I get hot just sitting here thinking about it, actually, which just goes to show. But I like the other parts as well. I like the way his hair comes up in that widow’s peak and then falls over so he has to brush it out of his eyes. I like the way his nose starts right between his eyes and the way it makes his cheekbones stand out. I like his hands with the long slender fingers. I like his shoulders with the muscles swelling beneath his skin. Baz isn’t muscley, I don’t mean it like that, he’s slender, but - masculine slender. I guess I like the masculine-ness of him, which is also kind of gay. I like the smell of him, not the posh products he uses but the actual smell of him, when he doesn’t use any of that stuff - when he sweats. I like the animal musk of his crotch, the sweeter smell of his arse.

I like him.

Really, really.

I always have. From the minute we started up together, I just wanted to do it again. And I’ve never really stopped wanting that.

Everything we’ve done - with sex I mean, I’ve liked. I”ve liked it all. I don’t ever get tired of him. I always want to be near him.

That’s what makes it so hard to know that I have to leave him.

********

 

After a while I get up and leave our cabin. I wander upstairs to the little observation deck above the control room, where I find Penny looking out over the gorgeous mountain landscape below.

“Simon,” she squeals. She throws her arms around me.

It's so, so good to see her.

We sit on the floor of the observation deck and we just talk and talk and talk. I tell her the whole story - about Capheus, the charmed objects, my Uncle Sal, the Humdrum. How stupid I was. All of it. I don’t leave anything out. She tells me all about her year in Chicago, being in grad school, being married, being pregnant.

“I can’t believe there’s an actual baby growing inside you,” I say. Of everything that’s happened this is almost the weirdest thing of all.

“I can’t believe it myself sometimes,” she says. “But it’s true.”

“Are you…. Are you ready for all that?"

She shrugs. “Mum was a year younger than me when she had Premal,” she says. “It’s only……”

“What?” I ask.

”I wish she wasn’t so far away,” she says. She sounds sad.

“You’re lucky,” I tell her.

“I am?” she asks. “Why?”

“You get to have a kid,” I say. “Be a parent. I’d like to do that.”

“No reason why you can’t,” she says. “You’d be a great Dad.”

I shrug. “I’m queer,” I say. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever said that out loud, though I’ve thought it plenty of times.

“Lots of gay men have families,” she says. “You and Baz can adopt. Or get a surrogate.”

“Penny,” I say.

“What?”

“I’m not going back to London with Baz.”

“Oh.”

She looks at me for a long time, her face full of love, full of questions. Then she nods, once, and I know she gets it. Penny’s good that way. She understands sometimes, without me having to do a lot of explaining.

“Does he know that?” she says.

“I haven’t told him, yet,” I say. “But if he’s been paying attention he's probably worked it out.”

“What are you going to do now?” she asks.

I shrug. “I wasn’t planning on living through this mess. I really have no idea.”

“You could stay with Micah and me while you figure it out.”

I look at her. “Really? Would Micah agree to that?”

“He would if I say so. Maybe Micah’s dad could help get you into the pre-med program at the University of Chicago.”

“I don’t know, Penny,” I say, though the thought of living with Penny again is appealing, I have to admit it.

“Simon,” she says eyes suddenly wide. “You could be our nanny.”

“What?”

“No, I mean it. Micah and I are straight out with grad school as it is. And you were just saying you wanted a baby.”

“A kid, Penny. A child. Maybe. But ….a tiny baby?…...nappies and things? I wouldn’t have any idea how to do all of that.”

“Mum’s coming to Chicago teach me after the baby’s born. She could teach you at the same time. And Simon….”

“What?”

“I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

She nods.

“What are you scared of?”

Penny is never scared.

She shrugs, and looks at the ground, and it reminds me of when we were kids…. Best mates, inseparable, dread companions. “The birth…..motherhood. It’s all new..….” she says. “I’ve never done anything like that before. And…..it would be nice…...to have you with me.”

“Penny…..I…..”

I don’t know what to say.

“It’s okay”, she says. “Think about it. You’ll agree to it soon enough.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Simon,” she says and she smiles a knowing smile. “I think right now it’s the best option you’ve got.”

 

********

**Baz**

Simon waits to tell me until we’re back at Penny and Micah’s apartment, camping out on an air mattress in their tiny study off the living room. I’m not that surprised to hear it. I know something’s wrong - I can tell that much by the way he’s been acting.

He sits on the edge of that awful mattress and looks at the floor.

“Baz,” he says. “I can’t go back to London with you.”

I really don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter what I say. Even though I’ve been expecting it the bottom is falling away from me, farther and farther. My heart is dropping down through my stomach, past my feet, down through the many, many stories of Penny and Micah’s building, and deep into the cold earth somewhere far below us.

“Simon,” I start. I have to try. “I know it’s been bad. I….I agree we can’t go back to the way things were. But that doesn’t mean….. Look we’ll get a fresh start - we can move if you like, to a new flat. Maybe we can get that cat you’ve been talking about……”

But he puts up a hand and cuts me off, shaking his head.

“No”, he says. “Baz…..I’m sorry. I love you, I really do. But I just need to be on my own. At least…..at least for a little while.”

I see the clear tears shining in his eyes and my throat is tight. He bends and kisses me.

“I can’t go back to the way things were Baz, I just can’t.” He kisses me again, and this time he means business. His mouth is hard and hot and needy, and I kiss him back. He feels so good and I want him so much. He pushes me down on my back on the squeaky stupid air mattress and presses into me.

“Please Baz,” he says. He’s not looking at me but he’s moving his chin against mine, the way he does, and he puts his hand on my stomach. “I just…...Let's not talk about it. Please. Let’s just.….not talk.....any more..…tonight.”

And we don’t. Our bodies talk, pouring all the emotion - love and sadness in equal measure - into every kiss, every caress, every thrust, every breath. And for a little while, we’re all right, we feel good, even though we know it has to end.

If we could just keep on doing this, I would be okay with never talking again.

********

**Simon**

Maybe someday we’ll find our way back to each other.

But I can’t tell Baz that I’m thinking that. It would just confuse everything.

I know I’ll never find a love like this again. It’s too powerful, too deep.

That’s the problem, really.

I need to stand on my own two feet. To figure out who I am. Without Baz.

I would have gone. I would have poured the last of myself into the Humdrum, and just disappeared, but Baz pulled me back. And now I have to deal with it all again.

No magic. Just Me. Queer, inadequate, insecure me.

I need to go it alone. At least for a little while.

********

**Baz**

We could have ended it in a storm anger, had a big blow out and stomped out of the room, gone our separate ways, but we don’t. Micah’s parents have a cabin up north on a lake, and we rent a car and drive up there. In Chicago it felt like spring was on the way, but the woods around the cabin are deep in snow. It’s cold and remote and beautiful. The days are grey and the sky is close and it keeps snowing. Out on the lake men in big boots and heavy jackets are huddled over holes in the ice - fishing.

There’s plenty of game. Our cabin is comfortable with a huge stone fireplace, a big bed with snowy white sheets and a larder full of food. Days we hike around the lake, or strap on the cross country skis that are on a rack by the back door and go slipping and sliding over the deep soft snow. Nights we cook and cuddle by the fire. We shag each other every way we can think of, every possible combination of fingers, tongues, cocks, arses. We shag all over that lovely cabin, in the bed, on the stone hearth in front of the fire, on the kitchen table, out in the snowy woods, under the moon. One night we bring each other off just tonguing each others’ ears and dry humping, another night we have three gos. On the last one we bone for almost an hour before melting into that sweet release.

But it's all got a slightly melancholy quality, like the final few days of a lovely holiday. Like the way I see Daphne looking at the children lately, as if she just wants to devour every moment with them, while she's still here.

I keep thinking if the sex is good enough, I can get him to change his mind. But I can see, by the middle of the holiday, that it isn’t going to work. I love him more than ever, but I know I have to let him go. He needs - something different. Something I can’t give him anymore. A chance to live life as a Normal. A chance to forget the world of Mages. He’s right. It’s just too painful this way. He’s never going to get used to it.

And by the end of the week, I guess I’m starting to accept that I might need something different as well. A chance to live my life without all that sadness. All the guilt and the worry. Maybe a chance to have a lover who doesn’t break my heart every time I look into his eyes.

Not really.

But I realize I don't have a choice. Simon needs this. I can’t force him to stay with me. And even I have to admit that our last year together has been pretty bollocksed up.

Something’s changed in Simon, something deep. Maybe he’s just growing up, or maybe its the time he spent as a dragon - but he isn’t looking to me to save him anymore, to fill in all the holes in his soul. If he can’t do it himself, then nobody can.

One afternoon, the sun comes out. We go for a hike on the cliffs above the frozen lake, and I tell him about me and Jonathan. About our two snogging sessions. When I finally say it, it doesn’t really sound like much of a confession, even though I felt so guilty about it at the time. He looks at me through narrowed eyes and doesn’t say anything. He keeps on walking, not talking and I follow along behind him on the winding trail. I’ve no idea what he’s thinking.

“I guessed something like that was going on,” he says at last. The sun is getting low in the west and the light is getting all golden, making his curls shine.

“You did?” I’m surprised by this. He never said anything.

He shrugs. “All those office parties. And you’ve always been…….curious.”

He’s right. I can’t deny it. We hike on in the beautiful, cold afternoon.

“Haven’t you been?” I ask at last.

“What?”

“Curious?”

“Maybe,” he says and shrugs again. “I don’t know. A little, I guess. I’ve never really wanted anyone but you.”

 _Then fight for us!_ I want to scream. I want to take him by the shoulders and shake him. But I don’t. Simon is looking down at the ground like all the fight has finally gone out of him, all the fire. There’s no smoke there at all. Just a sad beautiful boy, struggling to hang on.

My cold heart grows colder at the sight of him like that. The wind is picking up, and I pull my jacket tighter around me.

We hike back into the setting sun. We go back to our cabin and shag in the big soft bed. It’s good, I guess, but I’m so sad I can hardly tell. And afterwards, I shut myself in the bathroom and weep.

********

So he drives me to the airport and we part as friends. I’m not crying, and neither is he. We return the rental car. He stands in the line beside me while I check in for my flight. We’re not touching, not talking. I can’t think of a thing to say to him. At the big blue screen that lists all the departures, I find my flight. It’s time for me to go through security and get to my gate.

It’s almost too much. We embrace, one final time. The smell of Simon around me - his warmth. No smoky magic any more. Just him.

Maybe I could still talk him into getting on a plane back to London with me.

“I’ll always love you,” I whisper in his ear, and now, the tears come. I can’t help it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back. We wrench apart, and then he’s walking away from me, a dark figure against the brilliant sun shining in through all the plate glass windows, and my view of his back is swimming with tears.

Blindly, I turn down the corridor to security. I stand in the line, show my passport, remove my shoes and belt, go through the metal detector. By the time I get through all that I’ve only a few minutes until they start boarding. I find my gate, stand by the window, and look down at the activity below - bags being loaded, the plane being fueled and serviced. The tears are dripping down my face and I don’t bother to wipe them away.

********

My plane lands at Heathrow early in the morning. I can’t bear to go back to our empty flat in London, so I take an Uber up to Oxford. When I arrive the children are all in school. Vera tells me that Daphne is at her oncologist’s office, having a treatment, so I get in the Jaguar and drive over there.

They’ve got this big sunny room with about twenty lounge chairs for the oncology patients to sit in and get poisoned. It’s supposed to be cheerful but it isn’t, of course. There’s lots of stuffed animals, and crocheted afghans and encouraging plaques on the walls but it isn’t working. The patients all are pale miserable skeletons. They look like vampires who haven’t fed in way too long.

Daphne’s in a lounge chair with one of those colorful turban things on her head. She’s wan and thin but her face lights up when she sees me. Then she takes a closer look and holds out her arms. I collapse into her.

Daphne’s never held me, but now I relax into her embrace like she really is my mother, after all, and before I quite realise it, I’m sobbing in her arms. Big juvenile sobs that rack my body and make my nose run. I hate crying like that. It’s horribly embarrassing, especially in front of the other patients, but I literally can’t stop myself. And I feel better afterwards, I really do.

********

After Daphne’s finished her treatment I drive her home and she goes right to bed.

I’m knackered myself. I didn’t sleep at all on the plane. I hunt in the woods behind the lodge, then I go to my room and lay down, but of course, I can’t sleep. I toss and turn and think about everything that’s happened.

Crying helped, but the ache is still there. The missing Simon ache. I guess I’m just going to have to learn to live with it.

One of the first times Simon and I did the deed was in this bed. Not the first time, but one of them. It was really early in our relationship. We were still at Watford, and we were still working things out. I remember how nervous I was, and how I had to keep reminding myself that it was actually real, and not just some stupid wet dream or something. And of course, how good it felt. The first time Niall had sex he was so mortified by the whole experience Dev and I practically had to talk him down off a ledge. But it was never like that with me and Simon. We were good together, right from the beginning.

I can’t think about it anymore. I…...can’t think. It all hurts too much. I consider wanking, but honestly, I don’t even feel like it. I roll over, and hug a pillow to myself and mercifully, sleep comes.

********

I spend a few days with my family in Oxford. I sleep a lot and hunt and play piano. I wish I had my violin, but it’s at our flat back in London. My siblings are happy to have me there. I play air hockey with the boys, or kick the soccer ball about with them. Blake is getting old enough that he can actually practice some drills. Gregor just runs after the ball like a wild man, but he loves being out there. He usually injures himself and goes crying to Vera, but he’s only three, after all.

I play duets on the piano with Bryony. I watch Martina practice for her dance routine for her recital like a hundred times. Mordelia comes home from Watford for the weekend. We dip into the liquor cabinet and sit up late, wrapped in quilts in front of the fire, getting pissed. Mordelia likes to talk to me. There’s always a lot of drama going on with her friend group, and there’s this girl she likes. She wants me to talk about what happened with me and Simon and I do finally, a little. It’s pretty nice.

Sunday afternoon Father takes me to the train. It’s a late winter afternoon, grey and damp, and the streetlights are already on. The snow has all melted and it looks like rain, the sky heavy and metallic behind the bare branches of the trees. As we’re standing on the platform, waiting for the train, he speaks.

“Basilton.”

“Yes, Father?”

“Your mother told me that you and Simon….split up.”

It sounds so awkward, coming from his mouth, that for a moment I’m not sure I heard him correctly. I glance over at him. He’s looking right at me. He looks uncomfortable, but he doesn’t turn away.

“Yeah,” I say. “We did.”

There’s a long silence. “Are you doing all right?” he asks at last. I meet his gaze, and shrug. Talking about emotions is not something we do in my family. Ever. It’s the closest thing we have to a religion.

“No,” I say at last. “Not really.”

The train is pulling in. The whistle blows, a low moaning sound, and the brakes hiss.

“I’m sorry,” he says. For a moment, I think he’s going to hug me, but then, he doesn’t. Which is just as well, because if he did, I think my head might explode. Which would be messy. Brains all over everything.

Instead, he gives me his hand, and claps me on the shoulder in a _Buck up old man_ sort of gesture. He comes in close enough so I can smell his distinct smell - polished leather, whiskey and starch, familiar and comforting.

I board the train. The doors slam shut, the whistle blows again, and I’m on my way, heading back to London to pick up the broken pieces of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, loyal readers for following me to the end of this tale. I apologize for the sad ending, but I really feel Simon and Baz need a little time apart. It's going to be hard, but they need to grow up without each other for a little while. I think their relationship will be stronger for it in the long run, though they can't see that right now. If you want to see what I envision for their future, check out some of my other stories about them (Baz on Moony, Pink Elephant Sippy Cup, or Leo and Aurora). As always, your comments and feedback are very much appreciated. Peregrine Bones


End file.
